


remind me why i listen to you?

by josten10



Series: fredrobin project [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Frederick loves his mother, M/M, Mutual Pining, Robin and Frederick learn to trust each other, Robin dissociates for half the fic, Slow Burn, background sully/cordelia because i'm horny for both of them, heavy found family trope here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-02-28 04:37:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18749158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josten10/pseuds/josten10
Summary: Robin is alone - without memories, family, or purpose. All he wants is to prove himself - to believe that he's useful and morally good, but the simplest desires often come the hardest.Frederick learns how to trust; to be cared for as well as to guide others.Peace in Ylisse isn't everything it's made out to be.





	1. distractions

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! This is my first fic in a long time so I hope it all goes well...  
> I only recently got into Fire Emblem but I love Frederick with all of my heart. I originally started writing this because I feel like there's not enough FredRobin in the world. If I can get to finish this I will probably write more.  
> It should go without saying that I don't know that much about FE lore (I finished one playthrough of Awakening and I'm now halfway through Path of Radiance and that's all I've played) so it's not going to be very detailed in that regard. The fic takes place around chapter 11...what with Chrom becoming Exalt.
> 
> A great big thank you to my best friend Joey for letting me complain to him about how much I love Frederick and ask him to clarify on all the details I don't know about the Fire Emblem universe, as well as beta-reading for me. You are my rock and I love you <3

Spring had blanketed the fields with ashy mist in the morning, dustings of yellows and reds from the early-blooming flowers breaking an otherwise uninterrupted scene of green and blue. Robin let his vision blur into shapeless colours as he lay in the grass.  
Unlike the day his life began, Robin was trying to forget where he was instead of piecing the puzzle together. Thinking had begun to give him a headache.  
He focused on the feeling of the cool breeze on his face and neck as it rustled the trees and grass, and the way that grass tickled his hands and ankles as it danced with the movements of the air, and how the damp dew emigrated quickly onto his skin wherever he made contact with the ground. The cold was a little unpleasant.  
Unpleasant things... Robin thought and thought about those. The most pressing, by far, was his amnesia.  
He had a constant nagging feeling, like there were deadly important duties he had to attend to, and with no way to attempt to interact with any identity he had before he'd woken up that day, he could never hope to rid himself of the anxiety. No matter how far he stretched into the endless darkness of his mind, there was nothing he could recall before Lissa and Chrom's faces. No rhyme or reason for why he knew some things, and not others.  
_Common, for amnesia_ , Maribelle had said, to recall facts irregularly. Robin had recalled absolutely nothing new since he had opened his eyes. 

"Robin!"

Ah, more worries. These he could not ignore. Robin had lost himself in the bonds of the Shepherds - one part gratitude that they had not simply left him to the soil, another part - the bonds of family he now shared with them, and finally, of course, having nowhere else to go. He desperately hoped that his main motivations for staying were good, but couldn't prove it to himself absolutely.  
He didn't bother to look up towards the voice. He had lost himself a little. The distinct tone of irritation led Robin to believe that Frederick would pursue him, response or not. Robin wondered where he had learned what irritation sounded like. Robin wondered how he knew anything at all. 

The sound of grass being crushed by thunking footsteps drew ominously closer.  
"When you're done taking a nap in animal dung, you have duties to attend to." Frederick's voice was harsh, like crystal, it cut through the haze in the environment and in Robin's brain. He focused his eyes. Frederick was standing above him, his imposing figure a little funny from upside-down. Robin imagined pushing the downturned corners of Frederick's mouth into a smile, and decided it would just be creepy.

 "There aren't any animals here." Robin's voice was a little gruff; he had gotten up with the sun and decided to go on a walk immediately without talking to anyone first.  
"You're right; those burrows over there are just small enough to fit Taguel, and not foxes." Robin shifted his eyes over to where Frederick had gestured with great sarcasm. Sure enough, there were holes in the ground, and Robin wasn't sure if the smell that crept up on him in that moment was his imagination or not. "Are you going to get off of your backside now?" 

"...Will you help me up?"

"Most certainly not."

Robin grunted as he stretched his arms out as far as they could reach, flinching instinctually when he hit Frederick's sturdy ankles. Electing not to apologise, Robin sat up, and pushed himself to his feet. His body felt numb as brick and impossibly fragile at the same time. His feet dragged as he began to hobble his way back to camp. Frederick soon overtook him, and didn't slow to match Robin's pace, becoming smaller and more surreal in the distance.

 

*

 

"Where'd you go, Robin? You missed breakfast!" Lissa was cheery as she approached him, her eyes alight with recognition; perhaps concern. Her hair was pulled into two perfect pigtails, as seen to by Maribelle, dress sparkling clean and tied with precision, as made sure of by Maribelle, and there were some dark sprinkles of _something_ on her cheek, courtesy of her meal. Robin guarded the things he knew about her in his mind with ferocity. He was sure of himself; he would never forget her.

"It's okay, I wasn't that hungry anyway. I just went for a walk. I woke up with a headache, but I'm fine now." The conversation was cut short on purpose. Robin wanted to move on from his sullen mood.  
Taking a few short strides, Robin placed himself in the centre of camp, commanding the attention of his peers. "I've been constructing a plan for our move towards Ferox. The best route we can take is still going to be wrought with bandits, as you all well know. I'd like to see Sully, Maribelle, Sumia, Frederick and Chrom, of course."  
Chrom sat on a log in front of Robin, his head bent so low into a bowl of broth that it looked like he might not be using the spoon in his hand. A noise of agreement rumbled from his direction, and then a slurping noise. Robin sat down next to him, thinking he probably wouldn't be talking for a while.

"Robin, you smell like fox dung."  
Or not. Perhaps Robin would be having a wash and a change of clothes before he spoke to his team.

 

*

 

Robin's team sat in a wonky semicircle around the raging campfire that evening. The stars were all out; an audience to the tense meeting, but he imagined they had all averted their eyes at the display, much like the rest of the camp. It's not like Robin had especially forbidden unmentioned team members to enter the discussion for the next day's move, but others gave them a wide berth; the sound of Frederick's vocal frustration and Robin's louder defence would have driven them away if the dog-tired expressions on everyone's faces didn't first.  
"Don't be so ridiculous!" Frederick boomed, a huge hand gripping his thigh with such strength that the muscle indented where he touched. "You're going to get us killed," He breathed quieter, the distrust in his breath feeding the flames as they ripped into the space between Robin and Frederick's faces. 

Robin fell quiet with frustration. His skin didn't tint pink in the heat, but he felt red all over as he broke the still shock in his body. "It's not ridiculous. It's logical. If we went along the pathway, we'd get ambushed multiple times."

"So, what, you'd prefer us to go alongside a rocky and steep ravine, and end up in an unfamiliar forest at night? If it rains, we will all be in grave danger."

He chose his next words carefully. Robin had expected this particular criticism, but it still burned to have your ideas rejected this harshly.  
"It's the best alternative we have." 

"Now, I think we should all just discuss this like adults," Chrom attempted to interject, before Frederick started speaking.

"Best alternative my foot! At least if we travel the path we can _see_ who is ambushing us."

Robin lost his patience. "We're unlikely to meet hardly any resistance until we reach the Feroxi border if we follow my instruction!"

"It's your job, _tactician_ , to plan our way through fights when we meet them, not get us out of them. You'd do well to know your place."

"Now, Frederick, I think that's-" Sumia tried.

"I know this area, Frederick. We've been here before. That's the very same reason why I'm arguing that we take the long route."

"You mean the last time we were here, when you nearly got us all killed."  
Robin recalled with a flinch. It had been months ago; they had taken the main path over the Feroxi border and been alighted of many of their possessions - they were lucky enough to escape with their lives. He hadn't been quick enough or smart enough; he hadn't known his allies well enough to position everybody correctly. Nobody else had blamed Robin for this, until now. Robin couldn't speak. His eyes went to his feet, and he was beginning to think that the debate was lost when Chrom spoke up.

"Now that's enough," He began heatedly, looking back and forth between Robin and Frederick disapprovingly. "Last time was nobody's fault but mine. I chose to go on that road." Robin began to interject, but Chrom shushed him. "Here's what I propose: we follow Robin's route. I trust him - and we owe all our lives to him, just the same as we do to everyone else we travel with. If we find it dangerous, we can always turn back. For once, we're not in a rush." It was true, they were on a glorified messenger mission - all formalities in Chrom's new titling. But, Robin reasoned in his mind, they had been playing hooky for some days now. They had to get there sometime, and in one piece. The only reason the Shepherds had been sent is due to how dangerous it was to travel this route.

Frederick clearly had more to say, but he wasn't about to disagree with Chrom, especially with the underlying fire in those words. He knew he had stepped on a nerve. Robin sneered privately at Frederick's two-sided personality when it came to Chrom and Lissa versus anyone else. He stood up with finality in his frame, and pointedly avoided looking at one particularly irritating knight.  
"Thank you, Chrom. I'm tired, and I'd like to retire to my tent now."

" _Finally_ , someone says something I can second." Sully agreed heartily, and stood up, brushing imaginary dust off her legs. Everyone moved off with little more to say, as did Robin - but he did not go back to camp. Instead, he went back to the field, unable to stomach the idea of sleep.

 

*

 

Robin knew that he needed rest for tomorrow, but he couldn't stop his mind from racing. He felt more than hurt from that conversation; it was searing him all over. He tried to tell himself that it didn't have anything to do with questioning his own allegiance to the Shepherds, but he couldn't help but wonder. If he didn't waver like this; if he wholeheartedly accepted this place with his friends, would he have done more to save them last time? Would there be a time in the future where he let someone die for the same irresolute allegiance?

The wind was even colder in the evening, and Robin shivered at the lowered temperature, huddling closer in his coat and hooking the buttons closed over his front. He debated laying out here all night, and then reconsidered, when he thought of the last time he had gotten sick.  
It had been another night he was sleeping outside - this time, not by choice. He, Lissa and Olivia had stayed up, telling ghost stories, falling asleep by accident around a long-dead fire. While he looked upon that evening with great fondness, the day after was incredibly awful. They all had to rise early for mandatory training, sniffling and feverish, and were made to do extra for their foolish behaviour.  
Robin had just about reconciled himself to stand up. 

"Robin,"

Gods, not again.

This time, Robin snapped his head around, something fierce in the set of his jaw and venomous on his tongue. "I thought that after that performance, you'd leave me for at least a twenty-four-hour rest period."  
Frederick stopped awkwardly in his tracks, and seemed to hesitate. His expression held none of the contempt Robin had seen earlier, at least from the vision the starlight provided.

He became sure of himself again in a short period, and moved to stop next to Robin; still standing. "I came to...apologise for my earlier outburst."

It was not the first time Frederick had ever apologised to Robin; he was sure, but Robin could only recall a quiet _sorry_ , perhaps when Frederick had fallen into him by accident, or wandered into Robin's tent instead of his own. Although he didn't expect a real apology from Frederick to be a common occurrence, and he thought he ought to savour it, he still felt bitter.  
"Thank you for that. Are you sure you haven't just come to tell me to go to bed, so you can be assured that your team is in tip-top shape to protect your precious Exalt?" 

Frederick held the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb, his eyes shut painedly. "Robin, please, I-"

"Oh, _now_ you want patience? Now you want me to listen to you, after spending the evening critiquing anything I said and sowing seeds of distrust wherever you possibly could?" Frederick sighed, and sat down on the grass next to Robin. "What?"

He seemed to not be able to meet Robin's gaze, and stared off into the distance; squinting, with the corners of his mouth even more turned down than usual. Robin had never seen Frederick this close before. The strands of his hair that fell on his face shivered lightly in the breeze. His cheeks were fuller than Robin had thought. Despite the displeasure in his face, Frederick looked younger - not quite his age, perhaps, but certainly younger than usual.  
"...You're right." Frederick said after a time. 

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're correct. Not that you need my consent or my approval in that, but if you want to air your concerns about me, now is the time. I can't promise I won't react, however."

Robin blinked. "Well that's one way to shut me up."

To his surprise, Frederick breathed a laugh. His eyes slid over to Robin, and flickered back quickly when their gaze met. "I shouldn't have said what I said to you. I know you blame yourself for that day; I always knew, and I know it's not your fault. Even if you had planned the entire venture, it still wouldn't be your fault. You are not an oracle, and you cannot predict future events." Robin felt inclined to disagree.

"Frederick, you are a knight. Not only this, you are specifically tasked with the protection of Chrom and Lissa," Robin began. Frederick nodded in approval. "If there was a time where, through events you only had partial control of, they came to harm, or you were unable to protect them, you would feel like you weren't doing your job. If you as a knight aren't doing your job, then what is the point of you being there in the first place?" Robin felt a heavy gaze on him, but chose to look at the ground. "That," he sighed vulnerably, "is _exactly_ how I feel about that day."

Frederick's eyes probed him with a weight heavy enough to make his body feel flush with embarrassment. "Is this just about that day, or are you talking in general here?" Robin felt exposed.

"What do you know about me? Don't make such assumptions." He dug grass out of the ground with a fierce grip, still refusing to look at Frederick's face.

"...I'm sorry." Frederick closed his eyes for a moment, and continued. "I'm talking from my own experience. Might I explain myself?"

"Go ahead."

"Lord Chrom saved my life." He began, and if Robin didn't know Frederick's unwavering demeanour better he would have thought the man to be nervous. "I, unlike many Ylissean knights, am not from noble heritage. Perhaps it doesn't seem that way, by how I conduct myself, but I was raised by my mother alone, with very little income, in a small slum area on the outskirts of Ylisstol." Robin tried to imagine Frederick in the clothes that poorer Ylisseans wore, with their accent, eating their food. It was difficult to picture. "I wanted to make enough money for my mother, originally, which is why I began training as a knight." Robin again tried to marry the image of Frederick with one of a man who fought for gold, and not duty. That was even harder.  
"One night, while I was still in training; I must have been about seventeen. Some bandits had come through; obviously not for money, perhaps after they had gotten their loot elsewhere," Frederick said bitterly, "they set fire to a barrel. The houses where I'm from - they were poorly built; made from wood and mud mostly, and rotting at that," he had begun to stumble on his words - Robin got the impression he hadn't spoken about this in a long time. "The whole slum caught fire. My mother could have died, Robin." 

"What happened?"

 "Lady Emmeryn sent for aid as soon as she could, but it didn't come fast enough. I was lucky; I was so incredibly lucky." Frederick put his head on his knees for a moment and breathed in deeply. "Lord Chrom had been nearby. He was just a teenager at the time, and he helped evacuate us all. We lost our homes and our possessions, and he and Lady Emmeryn had new ones built for us. There were zero casualties."

Robin felt like he had aged as Frederick told his story. He looked at Frederick and no longer saw a barrier; a statue, something impenetrable, but more vulnerable. Human, with more history than he could hope to relate to. "Why would you tell me all of this?"

"When we first found you in that field, on that day, I thought the idea you could be telling the truth about your amnesia was entirely impossible. I don't think that way anymore. I wanted to give you a modicum of trust."

"You trust me, then?"

"No, not entirely." Robin huffed at that. "I trust you enough. I trust you to do your job. I trust that you are going to keep all of us safe. In turn, I will keep you safe." They shared a look, and for a moment, Robin wanted to reach out to the man beside him, but he didn't.

"...Thank you, Frederick."

"You are welcome," he responded, groaning as he got up from his position on the ground. "And for the record, I don't blame myself for that night; not anymore. I don't blame myself for not being able to do anything whilst I didn't yet have the ability I have today." The dig was obviously pointed at Robin, but he was too busy thinking about Frederick to be upset about it - he marvelled at the space that had been filled between them.

 

*

 

That morning, Robin was up early, despite his late night. Thoughts buzzed in his mind. He begged his head to give him some peace, for once. Leaving his tent, the cogs in his head turned rustily.  
Trusting his instincts was how he always operated. Frederick's words had stirred something within him, though - would it be better to take the riskier route? There were so many more variables; more chances that people would neglect Robin's instruction, more chances they would die.  
He recalled Frederick's declaration of truce. He thought about his ability; his competence and his huge frame - and he trusted him. Not entirely, but enough. 

"Chrom," he called, and Chrom turned from his chat with Sumia as Robin jogged over to him. "Change of plans. I think it's best if we take the main road."

Sumia looked confused and tired by this. "You mean all of last night was for nothing? I could have gone to _bed_ ," her gaze fell to the ground, pursing her lips longingly at the thought of more dreamtime.

Chrom, in stark contrast, was smiling. He crossed his arms in mock anger. "Adjusting the plan this late in the game, Robin? What made you change your mind?"

"I have confidence in us." Chrom nodded in understanding. He always seemed to understand what Robin was thinking - despite knowing nothing of his upbringing or environment, Chrom saw Robin. He felt a glow deep in his chest - this had to be it; the key: faith. Chrom always succeeded because he had faith in other people. Robin had taken the trust offering Frederick had given him, and would finally firmly hold the hand the other Shepherds had always held out to him.

Robin saw the whole day mapped out in his head. They would take the main road, and know that they would find bandits, and they would get out unscathed. Visualising his allies used to feel like flexing his limbs - when he looked at a map, he saw statistics. They would act as he thought they would. Faced now with a situation with so many variables, he wasn't sure how to position them like arms and legs that would move when he moved.

For a fighter, it was easy to prove that they were worthy of the title Shepherd. Heroism in battle, protecting their allies physically. For a tactician, merit was not so obvious, and much easier lost. For Robin, failure ached even more sorely. His duty was to oversee everyone; their missteps were his carelessness. He had been avoiding reckless tactics for this reason. Inevitably, playing it safe would not be enough for such a capable team.  
Robin steeled his nerves and tried to think calmly about the day ahead. 

"So, seeing sense, are we?" A voice from behind him called with a shockingly teasing tone. Robin braced himself, and looked over his shoulder with as much flair as he could muster.  
_Say something cool, please_ , he pressured his brain. 

"You might say...something sparked in me last night." Damn it all.

Frederick raised his eyebrows. "Good. Then we shall head out due North?"

 

*

 

The composition for most of the Shepherds was practically intuitive. Placing more mobile units with less mobile ones to increase range; following vulnerable allies with healers, keeping those with the sharpest senses in the corners of their party. Robin spent his time travelling mostly at the front of the formation, chatting away with Chrom and Sumia, next to a mostly silent Frederick. Robin couldn't tell if he didn't have anything to contribute, or if he was focusing on looking out for potential enemies. He decided to distract him.  
"Hey, Frederick?" 

Silence. Frederick was focusing. Robin would have to try harder.

"Look, the enemy!"

Frederick nearly fell off his horse, and it made an angry whinnying sound as he yanked the stirrups. "Ack! Where?"

"I lied, I just wanted to get your attention." Chrom and Sumia snickered at the sight of their unusual banter.

Frederick glared pointedly at Robin and the others, and corrected himself, holding his posture up high. "I'd thank you not to use such ridiculous methods. What did you want to say?"

"What's your type?"

Chrom began to cough and splutter.  
"You can't just ask Frederick that!" Sumia show-whispered. Robin could tell she was interested, though.

"I beg your pardon?" Frederick asked incredulously, seeming to hope he had misheard.

"Your type. You know, who you're into. What gets you _going_."

Frederick's face turned a shocking shade of red. He clearly wasn't asked these questions very often. "What gets me going," he began, struggling to get the words out, "are people who don't distract me from my work for inane questions!"

"Relax for once! I'll even tell you my type. I like hairy guys w-"

"Brace for an attack!" A voice, perhaps Stahl's, broke their conversation from the back of the party. As soon as he had finished his sentence, bandits were at their heels. They were not prepared.


	2. adversaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romance is found in the oddest of places. Over a table; under a table. Even at the tip of a sword.
> 
> Robin experiences some new sensations.

Robin journeyed in silence to the Longfort. The cold had begun to seep into his veins, and no matter how close he pulled his clothes to his body, his limbs spread an icy numbness straight to his heart.  
Chrom, purple and green all over with bruising but otherwise unharmed, had attempted to engage Robin a couple of times, but his short responses had quickly changed into a choked silence. Robin wasn't sure if he was so unwilling to speak or if he physically couldn't - he felt drained, and unsure of himself. He suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here. He thought of the field that Frederick had infiltrated some nights ago - he thought about changing his mind about his plans. He agonised over whether it was the right call.  
After the battle, Frederick held a hand out to Robin, who had fallen on his backside, and he took it, using the knight's unwavering form to steady his own. Frederick had said nothing to him; he just looked at Robin with something unreadable in his eyes, and turned away the moment Robin let go of his hand. 

The worst casualty, Ricken, was resting inside a carriage meant for light supplies, assisted by Maribelle. Robin had no idea of the extent of his injuries - the time in which they had discovered Ricken, and subsequently taken him away, had passed in a blur. Robin did not remember hoisting himself onto horseback, but he did remember Frederick acknowledging the new arrival onto his horse with a turn of his head, and the way his features hadn't changed at all when his eyes hit Robin. He knew that Frederick had slowed his pace at the front of the pack, considering their close proximity to their destination, and Ricken's discomfort, and Robin riding without a saddle. Frederick considered everything, all the time. Frederick never wavered. Frederick never failed.

He stared at the huge expanse of back in front of him, and felt both irritated and relieved that he couldn't see where they were heading.

 

*

 

The Shepherds took shelter in a large public house on their way to their destination. The sun had already set, and the stars shone even brighter in cold country, Robin recalled, as he stuck his head out of the window of the dining area.  
It was too cool to have a window open, really, but the heat of the big, sweaty travellers mingling with the fire in the front of the hall and the distinct stale ale smell in the air made it necessary. He felt overwhelmed by the atmosphere of the dining area - the unforgiving scents, heat and sounds entered his senses and refused to leave, making him tense and irritable. He knew, though, that if he left, someone would be sure to follow, so he nursed the glass stein full of golden liquid in his hands, and tried to let the contrast of the blacks and blues of outside distract him from the oppressive yellow of the inside. 

Realistically, the battle hadn't been a disaster. The Shepherds were obviously too strong now to be overpowered by a small, disorganised number as that which had approached them, but that was precisely what wounded Robin's pride.  
Ricken was stable - the wound stretching from his left shoulder diagonally down his chest was superficial. He even seemed to like it; he had said it made him feel more heroic, and everyone had laughed at that, except Robin. 

Robin couldn't justify the way he was feeling with logic. He felt a failure, in spite of their victory. His personal failure - he had gotten distracted, and been unable to coordinate the team. He felt so comfortable that he had forgotten to do his job. Now, he was standing in a pub, drinking ale that the Shepherds paid for, and would sleep in a bed, in the inn upstairs, also provided by them. What had he to contribute except his mind? What could he possibly give them if he continued to fail at the only skill he was useful for?  
He took to finishing the drink in his hand intently, although it was making his headache worse. Perhaps he could get away with sitting in the bathroom for a while.

 

*

 

Swinging the heavy door open, he was confronted with a reassuringly familiar silhouette, the ever-stoic side profile of a man washing his hands vigourously. He acknowledged Robin with a nod, and Robin thought that the silence between them might continue, but as he turned to head into a cubicle, Frederick spoke.   
"Not feeling particularly celebratory?" He had picked up a towel, running it in circles across his palms and wrists. His gaze was probing as his question.

Robin pouted, his hand pressed lightly against the door of the cubicle. "I... don't know if I can make merry this evening." His voice cracked into a whisper. A lump was beginning to form in his throat. Gods, this was ridiculous. 

Frederick left the towel abandoned by the sinks, and closed the gap between them. He reached up with caution, and Robin caught his eyes as Frederick's hand went to his shoulder. "Robin," he began, holding the intensity of their stare, "you did well today." 

Robin made a throaty sound of disgust, shielding his eyes with a hand, and he nearly broke when Frederick squeezed his shoulder. 

"I mean it. Everyone out there, they all trust you with their lives, and you proved yourself to them. Again." And he knew that Frederick believed every word he said, and he was sure that everyone else trusted him. But Robin saw the cracks in his own reflection. Every speck of dust; every little mistake, patterned out for him to scrutinise. And it was only a matter of time before the illusion faded and people lost their patience with a sub-standard tactician. 

"How can I prove myself to _me_ , Frederick?" Robin rasped, his eyes going blurry with frustration. "Every time we go out there I only see everything I'm doing wrong; every opportunity I didn't take." He sucked in a shaky breath. There was a tense silence between them. "I feel like one day I'm going to mess up so bad, and everyone is going to finally realise that they don't need a tactician." He looked up at Frederick, who seemed to be thinking very hard about something.

"Robin, the Shepherds are never going to stop needing you. You must understand Chrom's- all of our motivations." The last part came out in a stutter. "Your value is here," He explained, placing his hand gently against Robin's chest. "Your bonds with us. You are an excellent tactician, Robin, but even if you weren't - you would still be of high regard in our hearts. You aren't going anywhere." His tone was final. Frederick seemed to be embarrassed of his own words, and he flickered his eyes away from Robin.  
This was not at all what Robin had expected Frederick to say, but it was not unwelcome. 

"Thank you, Frederick... I mean that."

He cursed himself for not having more to say. His head was blank; a carpet of misty feelings reaching the far corners of his coherent thought. Frederick seemed to sense this, and turned towards the door.

"That's all right. I must return now. Should I tell everyone that you've gone to bed?"

"...Yes, please."  
Frederick only nodded in response, and left quietly.

 

*

 

Robin couldn't get Frederick out of his mind all night. The past few days had been odd to say the least. He shifted and squirmed in his bed, trying to escape unwanted thoughts by looking in a new direction.  
He wasn't sure what to make of Frederick's motivations. At first he thought that Chrom had asked Frederick to apologise for his rudeness those nights ago. Perhaps Frederick's demeanour since then had changed, or maybe it hadn't, and Robin just understood his motivations better than before. Robin wanted to be closer to Frederick either way - to understand how to read him.  
His strength was consistently reliable to Robin, and he felt something stir deep within him...admiration. Yes, that had to be it. Robin admired Frederick's steady poise, his level-headedness, his big muscles...  
His face felt hot at the thought, and hid his head under the sheets. Robin had to calm down - it's not like crushes never happened in the Shepherds. Certainly, mostly everyone had feelings for Chrom at one point; something they recalled with humour on nights he wasn't around. It was temporary, and it would pass, and hopefully Frederick and Robin could learn to be friends.  
He shifted once more, staring at the ceiling with great discomfort. The room was inky with night, but Robin could still make out the disorganisation of bricks above him. He traced the lines of mortar between them until his eyes wouldn't stay open anymore.

 

*

 

There was little time for the Shepherds to be tourists - they had to get to Arena Ferox to meet with the Khans in two days (the change in travel plans had made the journey unexpectedly longer) which was almost all of the time it would take to travel there.  
Chrom hadn't been recognised by any of the common folk; even most of his own people wouldn't be able to pick him out in a room, especially with the Exalt symbol on his shoulder covered by a weather-appropriate thick woollen shawl.  
Still, as they made to leave, they took advantage of market day. The streets were crowded with people - a mixture of local produce sellers and gift merchants since the area had a decent reputation with tourists. Robin found Frederick staring hard at a selection of shiny trinkets on a stall. 

"Whatcha looking at?"

"Oh, it's you," Frederick noted, unwavering.

"Well, it's nice to see you too." He replied sarcastically. Frederick's attention was a struggle to obtain.

"I apologise - it's just, I'm a little pressed for time."

"I never pictured you as much of a tourist."

"I'm not." Frederick replied, and Robin thought he would elaborate, but he just continued to stare very intently at the items on the table.

"Then what's with the focus?"

Frederick appeared pained for a moment, and seemed to settle something in his mind. "My mother loves Ferox. I thought it appropriate to bring her home some sort of charm."

Robin's eyes lit up. When Frederick had spoken about his mother those evenings ago, he had supposed a close relationship between mother and son, but this was an unexpectedly adorable revelation. "Does she wear a lot of jewellery?"

"No, not particularly."

"Then why not get her something like this?" He picked up a small round item marked in Feroxi script and intricate artwork. Popping it open with a flick of his thumb, on the inside a compass was revealed; the small golden hand whirring around wildly as Robin turned it between his fingers.

"What use has she for a compass? She is at home most of the time."

Robin rolled his eyes. "You're thinking too literally about this. It's a gift; it's supposed to remind her of Ferox, right? What better than something to reminisce over the long stretches of uninhabited land, the sense of adventure here?" He dramatised it, stretching his arm over Frederick's field of vision as if to refer to the expanse of land in his imagination.

Frederick considered it for a moment. "...I suppose you might be right."

"I'm beginning to enjoy the sound of you telling me that so often." Robin flicked the compass into Frederick's waiting hand, and sauntered off to see if there was anyone else to bother.

 

*

 

The towering walls of the arena were not adorned with artwork in stone, like important buildings in Ylisse, but their simple, sturdy columns did have a sense of beauty in them.  
There was something comforting about the place - Robin imagined that if all of them went up in flames, Arena Ferox would remain standing. The Feroxi equivalent to a temple, a castle, a ballroom, meetings (though few in number) were usually held here.  
Doubtlessly, Flavia and Basilio looked upon most meetings like this with great disdain, but Chrom and the Shepherds had a special place at their table having already proven their physical skill. Robin's tactical brain assumed that not much talking would occur here - Chrom was travelling for a symbolic Ylissean tradition to have his allies recognise his new title, and the Khans would most likely not give their consent without a fight. Robin had learned that Emmeryn had never had this recognition from Ferox; the relations between Ylisse and its neighbours had been less than amicable at the time of her coronation, even if she hadn't been far too young to wield a sword against an adversary. 

Since Chrom's crowning, he had set his heart and mind to strengthening Ylisse. Robin saw the stress in his brow. Chrom had a good heart, but his mind was not best buried in paperwork or sat at meetings in land disputes between lords. Though the event was small, it would be good to solidify ties with Ferox, even if just to take some of that stress away, and to put Chrom to use on the battlefield – inside his comfort zone.

The person who answered the door was Basilio, not a servant. Robin really had missed Ferox.  
"Chrom!" Basilio enthusiastically greeted him with a slap to the back which looked like it hurt very, very much. Chrom returned the embrace with a wince and a smile. Everyone piled through with a similarly painful entrance fee - regardless if they were acquainted with Basilio or not. 

"Well, look who finally decided to turn up." Flavia's face was welcoming, despite her words. She sauntered up to Chrom and clapped him louder and in the exact same spot - Robin would assume she did it on purpose had she not just entered the room. Chrom looked like the breath had been stolen from his lungs, his face red and no longer smiling. "Are you weaker than last I saw you?" Flavia frowned concernedly.

"We'll just have to fatten him up, then." Basilio laughed heartily at his own words, and ushered everyone immediately into the dining quarters. Robin would have preferred to be seen to a room - he felt greasy and rank from all the travelling, but his stomach squealed with excitement at the smell of roasted meats wafting through from the kitchens.

They ate with some visiting mercenaries and Feroxi fighters who greeted Chrom and Lissa without honorifics or formal speech, much to Frederick's chagrin. Robin noticed his relative discomfort in Arena Ferox, and had been watching him grow more agitated from his neighbouring seat at the dining table. He surmised this had a lot to do with Frederick's upbringing - hierarchy was everywhere for him. He couldn't understand treating people like Chrom, Lissa, Flavia and Basilio as equals.

Robin had learned that being irritating generally worked to get Frederick's attention.  
"You look like you're about to burst a vein, Freddy."

"I'll thank you to use my proper name, Robin." He still hadn't looked away from what was distracting him - Lissa seemed to be sharing a plate, dotted with all sorts of interesting dishes and sauces, with a small Feroxi fighter. The girl smooshed some sort of rib into Lissa's mouth, getting stains all over her face. Her laughter made her choke a little on her food, and Frederick all but jumped out of his seat as if he had been prepared for this exact eventuality, until Maribelle placed her hands fiercely over Lissa's shoulders, making sure that she had something to drink and glaring daggers at her new friend. Frederick settled back down with a pressed sigh. 

"Why the long face, horse-boy?"

Frederick sighed again, and met Robin's eyes. "I must admit I am...unused to Feroxi customs."

"They're an interesting folk, aren't they?"

"That's not the word I'd use for them."

He tried a different approach. "Don't you think that Chrom looks more comfortable here than he has lately?" It was true; the lines on his face were all evened out, and he was chatting animatedly with the Khans and a stranger. As they peered at him, he laughed so hard he spilled some ale on his plate.

Frederick's posture relaxed a little, his face softening. "I suppose he does." Well, that was easy.

“It would be good, then, to relax with him. We won’t come to any harm here.” That wasn’t entirely true, but nothing would be fatal, he reasoned. "Hey, Frederick, what do you suppose this meat is?" Robin asked, piling an unidentifiable dish onto Frederick's plate.

Frederick raised an eyebrow at him testily. "Do you often feed your allies like a mother bird, or is that privilege reserved just for me?" He took a chance on it, though, not having been brave enough to serve himself hardly any of the unfamiliar meals, and immediately turned green. "B-bear meat, positively." He reached for the ale he had been drinking quite conservatively up until now.  
Robin laughed aloud at that, and Frederick struggled not to cough up what he was drinking.  
"You did that on purpose." He said accusingly, setting his drink down with unconvincing upset. 

"No!" Robin stared him down for a little while. "Only a little bit." He waggled his eyebrows, sneaking a hand quite conspicuously onto the handle of Frederick's chair.

"You really have gotten very cheeky recently," Frederick chastised, his eyes flickering to Robin's hand, and then back up at his face.

"And what are you going to do about it?" Robin wondered if he'd had too much to drink; his heart was racing, and his head felt light - but when he checked, his cup was only a third empty. Teetering on the edge of continuing his reckless pursuit, or abandoning it while he could still save his dignity.

Frederick had turned a glorious shade of pink, and seemed to be closing the distance between himself and Robin.  
Robin exhaled sharply as he felt breath on his ear. Was this happening?  
"I think," Frederick started, and his voice was so gravelly it melted Robin from his tip to his toes, "that I am going to retire for the evening." 

Ouch. Rejection.

Robin felt a cold soreness creep in as he watched Frederick scooch out of his chair and walk away. Well, he supposed, that was the end of that venture. At least he knew that Frederick wasn't interested.  
Trying to take his mind off of the residual sting, he engaged himself in a discussion about tomorrow's events. 

"So we're going to fight tomorrow?" Sully asked the group she was sitting with, a violent gleam in her eye. 

"Of course! This _is_ an arena." A female mercenary with shaved hair responded, smashing her glass down to punctuate her words. She didn't seem to notice or care that ale was running in sticky lines down her fingers. 

"Excellent," she replied with a sharp grin, the look in her eyes gone from a match to a forest fire in seconds. "I'll have my chance to throw you down in the ring, then."

"Oh, you're never gonna get the better of me in a fight. But you can throw me down elsewhere. Say, my room...tonight?" The lady put her fingers under Sully's chin in a gesture far too intimate for a crowded dining hall. Robin looked away, embarrassed at everyone watching the spectacle, and privately thought about everyone getting some this evening but him. He saw Chrom again, and the way his arm was positioned leading under the table - he and Sumia were definitely holding hands. 

The prospect of romance hadn't bothered Robin all that much before; an amnesiac had more pressing issues, really, but the more he settled in with the Shepherds, the more he thought about the future instead of the past. If his memories never returned, then where would Robin go once all the fighting stopped? He was so busy trying to solidify all his ties with his friends, but one day they would all have alternate responsibilities - families, jobs, homes.  
Robin didn't need to be with someone necessarily, he decided, he just needed a purpose. Something to live for, other than being a tactician. Silently, he wondered about what that would look like - if there was anything that he truly wanted.

 

*

 

Having woken late, the huge pit where they had fought Marth previously was filled with fighters lightly stretching and sparring. Having no idea what the plan was for the day, he plodded up to the nearest friendly faces, Sumia and Stahl, who were lightly jousting. They both turned when they saw Robin coming.  
"Good morning!"

"Hey, Sumia. What's going on?"

"It's kind of a free-for-all at the moment. We're waiting for word on exactly what's going to happen, but it seems that there'll be some preliminary matches, and the day will end with Chrom versus Basilio and Flavia."

"Both of them at the same time?"

Sumia stopped for a moment, her eyes wide - she hadn't considered that. After a moment, she made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "Don't be silly, Robin. There's no way they'd do that." Robin felt dread in his gut. "You should find a sparring partner; we have no idea who's going to be fighting and when."

"Thanks, Sumia." Robin moved past them to find someone who was alone.

He saw Cordelia, who appeared to be practicing her lance movements, but on closer inspection, was, in fact, sulking. She didn't notice Robin as he approached, and nearly spiked him in the face when he tapped her on the shoulder.

"Gods, Cordelia, watch where you're pointing that thing!"

"Don't sneak up on me like that!" She spat, her face sour with contempt for a moment, before she slumped into a sigh and gave Robin an apologetic look. "Sorry, I'm sorry Robin. I'm not in the best mood right now."

"I can see that. Do you want to talk about it?"

Cordelia seemed to contemplate it for a moment. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Better than half the Shepherds, but I suppose that isn't saying much. I'll keep yours, though."

"I...have feelings for someone." Robin regretted asking. "But s- _they_ clearly don't see me that way."

"Sully, huh?" Robin had known about Cordelia’s case for some time. You didn’t need to have a forward-thinking mind like his own to see the way Cordelia looked at her teammate.

Her head snapped up and she blushed with shame. "How did you know that?"

"That secret ceased to be so when you told Lissa."

She looked wounded, placing one hand against her cheek in shame. "I am so _stupid_."

"Don't worry; I'd wager that Sully isn't aware."

"Clearly! She was all over that awful woman last night, and now they're sparring together." She made a hopeless whimper as she stared at something in the distance.

Robin followed Cordelia's line of sight to where the two women were wrestling. He wondered if hand-to-hand combat would be allowed in this competition, and decided that there probably weren't very many rules in this place.  
"Sully doesn't like her." 

"She liked her enough to accompany her last night!"

"Well, maybe," Robin conceded, "but they're never going to be together." He looked back at Cordelia, who looked not at all convinced. "Why are you giving up on any chance with her? You haven't even conveyed your feelings." He felt bitter in his gut.

"How can I possibly tell her how I feel now?"

"You go up to her, and you say 'Sully, I have feelings for you.'"

"That's not what I meant!"

"Listen, Sully is dense." Cordelia nodded. "She has no awareness of her surroundings or any social skills." She agreed again. "If you want to stand any chance of being with her, you are going to have to tell her. _With words_."

"I suppose you're right." She sighed, but appeared brighter than she had been previously. "Do you want to spar, Robin? I'm not going to talk to her until later."

"Sure." Robin brought out his sword; it was a bad match against Cordelia's lance, but he wasn’t feeling serious about fighting yet. As they began to fight, Robin chanced a confession of his own. "I think I have a crush, too."

"Well, you have to tell me more now!" Cordelia replied, jabbing her lance in his direction in time for him to block it with the heavy weight of his sword.

"Can you keep a secret?" He mimicked with a cheeky grin.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "I'll keep yours."

"It's Frederick."

She gasped, and Robin took the opportunity of her distraction to smack the lance out of her hands with the fuller of his sword. Cordelia didn't appear to be that concerned. "What?!" Her hands, now empty, went out in a motion of exaggerated disbelief. " I thought for _sure_ you were going to say it was Chrom!"

"Why does everybody think that?" Robin asked grumpily. He gestured over to Cordelia's weapon, and went to go and get it himself when he saw she wasn't moving.

"It's just-surprising!" She giggled a little manically. "What do you see in Frederick of all people?"

What _did_ Robin see in Frederick? "He's...strong."

"I'll grant you that. But all of us are strong; that's why we're here."

"Emotionally as well as physically. He has an incredible mind. He's also a mystery to me. I want to learn everything about him." It was embarrassing to reveal that much information; to himself as well as someone else, but he supposed it was true.

"Robin, that is _so_ cute."

"Can we just fight now?" Robin waggled Cordelia's spear in her face pointedly.

"Wait-wait, one more thing. Have you said anything to him?"

"I don't know if this counts… but I kind of flirted with him last night. He shut me down, though."

"What does _kind of_ flirted mean?"

"I don't know! I was being suggestive!"

"How in Naga's name did I manage to let you convince me to pursue my feelings?!"

"Hey! That was good advice!"

"Says the man _suggesting_ romance."

"You know what, I don't recall asking for your opinion."

"Take your own advice, then! Frederick may be smart, but he's just as dense as Sully when it comes to delicate matters! You should try being open with him, and maybe he'll take you seriously." She took her lance from Robin at that, and readied it.

Robin didn't reply to Cordelia out of frustration. They sparred in relative silence whilst Robin considered another try.  
What if he was being too pushy, though? He didn't want to break the fragile camaraderie they had just built with an impulsive decision. The thought of talking to Frederick on that level made him tense and uncomfortable. Were they even there yet? Robin decided with finality that he would hold off on advancements in that stage - until he was more comfortable, or until he lost his feelings. It was painful, but Robin didn't know what else to do.

 

*

 

Chrom, Basilio and Flavia were nowhere to be seen, but Flavia had turned up earlier to let everyone know that the matchups would occur on a random basis, and that not everyone would get picked to fight, because they didn't have all that long. Those picked would only have one fight. Robin had resigned himself to his seat at the base of the arena - it was barely filled; mostly everyone had crowded into one section of the hall designed to seat a thousand.  
Though Robin had predicted something like this would occur, and he was waiting to see if his prediction about Chrom's battle would be confirmed or denied, he didn't expect to get picked himself.  
A young man who looked sturdy enough (though most Feroxi people did) was not wearing armour as he ran out to the centre of the ring to announce the third matchup.  
"Sir Frederick and Robin of the Shepherds!" 

This was incredibly unfortunate. Robin was still undone over his conversation with Cordelia, and didn't feel ready to face Frederick yet. The lady in question gave him a reassuring pat on the back from the seat behind him, and he stood up, his stomach falling to his feet with the motion.  
_Think_ , he pleaded with himself. Robin tried to assess Frederick with the same cool calculations as when he was figuring out where to place the knight in battle. Frederick was a mighty foe; an excellent front-liner with serious physical defense and capability to see foes' weak points. Ultimately, if Robin wanted to take him down, he had to be unpredictable. If Robin was recommending fighting Frederick, he would suggest magic instinctually - the only issue being that Robin wasn't fighting to kill. His only tomes were thunder and fire spells, which would do considerable damage to a man wearing incredibly conductive steel armour.  
He supposed that he had enough self-control to not kill Frederick. However, he could only imagine the pain his spells would bring - he cringed at the thought of the potential burns. He readied his sword. 

Frederick was already waiting in the ring with an axe in his hand. Robin braced his nerves.

"Good afternoon, Robin."

"Frederick," Robin greeted back shortly. Calculations were whizzing by in his head. He sized up the arena; committed it to his brain. When he closed his eyes, he could feel the space around him. The air in the arena was rolling off him in waves.  
He noted the chatter of his comrades; a distant buzzing noise, and the whistle of the wind coming through the cracks in the walls. The chill of the room was inescapable - though there were human-sized torches burning throughout the room, the size of it made it impossible for the heat to travel. The tail of Robin's coat flittered against his calves in irregular pitter-patters. He breathed in the cold deeply and felt it travel down into his chest; fresh and icy like snow in his veins.   
Robin flexed his hand around the hilt of his sword, giving it a few practice swings; circling around the area close to his shoulder in a figure eight. He watched Frederick from where he stood, sizing him up in a similar fashion. Robin's heart raced - he had no idea who was going to win this battle. That was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. 

"Are you sure you don't want to back out of this? I wouldn't hold it against you." Frederick's mouth was neutral, but his eyes were playful. He held his axe with the grace of an artist - the handle of the weapon in Robin's mind's eye turned into the handle of a chisel. He imagined Frederick chipping away languidly at a half-formed statue, perhaps an athletic man made from marble, or a bird from ice. Everything about him was careful and precise; his features all curves and angles as he assessed his opponent. Frederick would be Robin's muse if he ever became a sculptor.

Robin licked his lips, suddenly too dry, before he responded. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

"I'm glad that we're on the same level, then. Prepare yourself, Robin; I will not hold back."

Robin left his stance open in response - cocky and risky, but the adrenaline in his system pumped a steady beat of primality. He wanted to have fun with this, but feared the extent of his own power against someone so important to him, and so suspicious of him. Agreeing to this fight while the signalling in his brain flickered from predator to prey like a metronome was incredibly dangerous, but he had agreed to this as soon as he had drawn his weapon.

Frederick lunged for him.

Robin sidestepped; he was lighter on his feet, and let Frederick's bearish form curl around air as he hit the man in the centre of the back with the hilt of his sword. If Frederick wasn't armoured, that would have taken the wind out of him, but he hardly stumbled before resuming his attack. He swung the axe with great force against Robin's sword. Robin grunted. The weight of the axe was oppressive; one advantage of Frederick's serious physical strength was his ability to wield heavy weapons with the range of light ones. He struck again against Robin's wavering defense.  
He needed to move. If he broke Frederick's embrace, he would lose his sword, and probably dislocate something in the process. He needed to push back. Robin took a step forward, and Frederick's weight increased. He started to push against the flat side of the axe even harder. Frederick looked at Robin incredulously; anyone would be able to predict that Robin would lose a strength contest between the two. He had to time this perfectly.  
Just as Frederick went to end their wrestle, Robin released his weight, flourishing his whole body; he felt the edge of the pit behind him and threw himself back into it, trusting his judgement of the size of the room. He was right.  
Frederick stumbled even harder at the force of his own weight, and Robin wasted little time in closing the distance between them to make another strike to his back, and then his side. 

Frederick recovered once more, and looked at Robin darkly. "You're mocking me. Hit me properly."

"Give me a challenge," Robin replied breathily. He felt himself possessed by something strange; a twisted curiosity to see how far he could push Frederick outside of his comfort zone.

Frederick responded splendidly. His speed picked up, and reciprocated Robin's challenge; swinging back and forth relentlessly. Robin was losing energy. Frederick nearly had him up against a wall. Robin felt his heartbeat in his neck as he struggled to parry the intensifying swings. He tried to feint again, but Frederick was ready for it this time, and body checked him into cold brick. Robin gasped at the impact, and struggled not to lose the power of his legs.  
"Why aren't you using your magic, Robin?" 

Robin met Frederick's eyes. His axe was directly above Robin's head. Something stopped Robin from being able to answer that question, and he took Frederick's distraction as a chance to slice Frederick's thigh where his armour left a gap. The cut was light enough to be a minor inconvenience, but it absolutely left a sting, and more importantly, shocked his opponent. Robin escaped like a kitchen rat – scurrying across to the other side of the ring as Frederick turned with an incredibly accusatory glare.

He didn't let Frederick too close to him for the majority of the rest of the fight, playing defensive; always evading and hitting lightly.

Frederick was becoming more irritated by the minute. He watched Robin's movements with incredible intensity, and waited for the next hit to his side before he thwacked the sword out of Robin's grip with a mighty swing.  
It tumbled and slid across the ring with an awful clanging noise, and Robin raised his arms in surrender as Frederick hit the head of his axe into the stone floor with anger.  
"You could have won," he hissed at Robin's innocent face, "why didn't you use magic?" 

"It's just for entertainment, Frederick." Frederick looked incredibly bitter as their small crowd whooped and cheered at the performance.  
The young Feroxi boy re-entered the stage to usher them off for round four. Frederick looked like he had everything to say still, but he turned on his heel sharply and walked away from Robin.

Robin wondered if he had messed that interaction up irreparably. His shoulders heaved as he breathed heavily, and went to sit far away from both Frederick and Cordelia. He put his head in his hands as the next pair was announced, running sweaty fingers through his hair.  
When he acted impulsively, things went wrong. When he held back, things still went wrong. No matter how many times he planned his interactions with Frederick; mapped out the gestures of his face and the words he liked and didn’t like, he always failed. Frederick was driving Robin crazy.  
The next fight was announced, but Robin didn’t hear or see hardly any of it. He was too focused on the blood pumping in his ears. Something rage-filled and bloodthirsty churned guilt in his gut, heavy like butter, and he wondered to himself if there was a reason he was craving so badly to kill his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Rubs my grubby little lesbian hands over this fanfiction*
> 
> When I first started writing this fanfiction I had no direction for where the background or storyline would go. I just wanted to write Frederick and Robin in love, because I love them. I haven't written a whole lot but I'm already falling deeper in love with their dynamic, and any side characters I add to my story. I realised while writing this chapter how much I love Ferox, and how I wish it had been expanded upon in the game - we're not going to linger here too long, I think, but I might return if I can worm it into the plot somehow.  
> My inspirations for this chapter are as always my best friend, my desire for rivals to lovers, anarchism and Naruto. I wish I was joking.


	3. losses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go very, very wrong.

Chrom re-entered Frederick's line of sight after the seventh consecutive battle - through a doorway too far to make eye contact, but he seemed to instantly recognise the area across the hall where his closest comrades sat, raising his hand in a two-fingered salute. Lissa waved back and cheered wildly from Frederick's side.  
Frederick's arms remained firmly in his lap; one hand applying pressure to the score on his thigh that Lissa had temporarily dressed after his match. It had stopped bleeding by this point, but he held fast, squeezing at it and feeling it sting anew every time his irritation grew. 

Lissa had barely stopped talking about Robin and Frederick's fight; animatedly discussing all of the parts she found most exciting, and how the tables had turned - she expected a relatively easy win for Frederick at first, but later thought for sure that Robin had the fight in the bag.  
Frederick had found the end somewhat anti-climactic; mostly because he was expecting Robin to pull something off. Apparently the same couldn't be said for the audience. 

As Robin had expressed, the preliminary fights were for entertainment purposes; the only battle that really mattered was Chrom's. Still, Frederick couldn't justify in his mind why Robin wouldn't take an opportunity to win against him in front of all of their allies. It was one of Robin's favourite activities to humiliate Frederick.  
Possibly, he considered, Robin held back because he wanted to test his abilities against Frederick on a physical front. But that couldn't be so, because Robin had barely touched Frederick with his sword when he had the chance.  
Then, perhaps he didn't use magic because he wanted to lose the fight. Also unlikely - Robin hated losing, and his earlier competitiveness seemed genuine.  
So much seemed genuine about Robin - Frederick saw himself falling for the ridiculous amnesia story and Robin's recent openness about his struggle with inadequacy. He felt like a conspiracy theorist at times, but Frederick had maintained the suspicion that Robin was trying to trick him with resolute ferocity - at least, up until recently.  
The only premise Frederick had left was that Robin had put Frederick's safety over his pride - that he didn't want to hurt him. It was absurd, but it wasn't contradictory; as long as Robin was exactly who he said he was.  
It itched on Frederick's nerves. The way he had been slipping up; believing Robin before his reason could tell him no - the way Robin readily accepted him into his heart despite Frederick's unkind disposition towards him. A distinctly unpleasant sensation had begun to creep up on him quick and quiet as ivy and before he knew it he had been bewitched by a demon in foreign dresswear.  
He sighed.

_I'm being dramatic about this, aren't I?_

He supposed it was time to start considering Robin a comrade.

 

The sound of a second wave of cheers pointed Frederick's focus back up to the stage. Basilio and Flavia had both joined Chrom, fully armoured. They positioned themselves on opposite ends of the ring with Chrom right in the centre. Frederick's body seized. They couldn't possibly be thinking of fighting Chrom at the same time.  
It was only then that Frederick realised Chrom was not wielding the Falchion; instead, he held two short swords, lightweight and flexible, in opposing hands.  
He recalled the announcement that morning - something to the effect of 'Chrom will be fighting Basilio and Flavia at the end of the competition for his right to recognition.' The simplicity of the words had left plenty of room for confusion. If Frederick had known he would never have allowed it - there were so many reasons this could go very, very wrong, and for no reason but a show!

Frederick went to stand but Lissa grabbed him by the arm, likely predicting his reaction before he had time to move.   
"They're not going to kill him, Frederick. Sit down and enjoy the show!" Frederick felt like his ears were about to burst with the pressure in his head.

' _We won't come to any harm here,_ ' Robin had said. The Khans readied their weapons. 

They waited for Chrom to signal them. He flourished his swords, and Basilio stepped back, while Flavia started on him.  
The Khans seemed to have some sort of routine down, or they were used to fighting together - Basilio had retreated for the beginning of the match. Chrom did not let his guard down, however, opposing Flavia's axe with only one of his swords while keeping up with her unrelenting speed and force. Frederick's knowledge of Chrom suggested he was probably biding his energy. 

Flavia could afford to expend more; to rely on her partner to back her up, and she threw her axe forward with all of her bodyweight, blocking Chrom's defensive strike with her steel vambrace, and hit him hard on his spaulder, throwing his weight to one side as he stumbled across the floor.  
This was ridiculous, Frederick thought - Chrom could barely handle Flavia's onslaught. When Basilio joined, Chrom was going to be completely destroyed. 

"Milady, I haven't got a choice; I need to go up there before he gets seriously hurt." Frederick recalled Ylisse's period of relative peace since Emmeryn's death - Chrom barely had time to seriously practice in these months; his muscle on the outside still sinewy and sculpted but his rhythm out of practice with skilled fighters like the Khans.  
Frederick knew that stopping this battle would have consequences, but the priority was Chrom's life and ability to continue protecting his country. Traditions always took a backseat to safety - something Frederick alone seemed to understand, unfortunately. 

He stood again, fully this time, his hands going immediately cold from the lack of contact to his thighs, when Lissa hissed at him.  
"Sit down; it's just for show! Look at Chrom, he's about to bounce back." 

He turned his head from her to watch Chrom throw his body forward like a bear on its hind legs and crash into Flavia with all the force of a hammer to a grindstone. Flavia was a beefy figure but Chrom towered over her with massive height and rammed her into the ground. She tumbled pathetically to Basilio's feet where he peeled his axe from his side.  
What a comeback. The crowd was buzzing with excitement, and Frederick remained stood, mesmerised with flames of passion and pride reminding him why he had pledged his sword to Chrom in the first place.  
The raw power of Chrom's strike was matched only by his intensity of will - he remained unwavering in his convictions and let only needless suffering sway the compass of his heart; infinitely wise and moral for his years. Despite all the horrors and the sadness he had seen he still let individuals access his heart, something Frederick could only dare to dream of doing. He knew that, even as Chrom's body was filled with raging adrenaline and a lightness from his small victory, he thought of his people - how having Ferox's guaranteed assistance would be of comfort and even aid if the time came. 

Basilio held out a hand to Flavia, but she batted it away, gesturing vaguely in Chrom's direction. He stepped over her, swinging his weapon menacingly. Chrom taunted back, gesturing his arms wide in a 'come at me' pose. Basilio flew at him.

The dance resumed as Flavia flung herself off the ground just in time to not be caught under the stampede of their footwork. It was not graceful, but what it lacked in elegance it made up for with fast-paced excitement. Chrom began to use both of his swords to block the oncoming force of Basilio's hits. Soon enough, Flavia re-joined, and Chrom was multitasking; his arms flittering back and forth with honed instinct like he was beating off hordes of Risen - Frederick empathised with that focus. He felt his body tune in with Chrom's practiced movements, startling and swinging his own arms like he could control Chrom from afar, much to Lissa's amusement.

It all looked to be going so well for Chrom - his opponents were not as young as him, and were tiring quickly. Frederick wasn't close enough to see the sweat on their brows but he did notice the slowing of their movements, his intense gaze unable to snatch itself away from the ring.

 

The unexpected happened very fast.

 

Chrom didn't notice his body being maneuvered in the direction of the wall; too focused on parrying a double onslaught of attacks. Surely, if he faced them one by one, it would all have been over by now. But it wasn't. His back hit the wall, sending a visible shockwave through his body, and Flavia knocked a sword out of his hand, Basilio parrying the other as it swung down to protect him. Flavia's axe dug into stone so close to Chrom's face that her missing could have been an accident.

 Frederick's ears rang in the silence of the hall - nobody seemed to know how to react. Chrom had lost. This painful reality seemed an impossibility up until the final moment. There were no more words after the end of a story; no more teachings after all questions had been answered.

He dropped his only sword in surrender. Basilio and Flavia lowered their axes, their expressions impassive from so far away, but who knew what emotions their eyes held? 

 

*

 

Chrom had remained in his room through the remainder of the sunlight, under the guise of paperwork he had brought with him, which had been greatly procrastinated for the entire journey to Arena Ferox. Lissa had visited him earlier in the day, and reported back that he had, indeed, been sat studiously at his desk, and that she had been quickly dismissed from his chambers in favour of a mound of parchment.  
Frederick had left Chrom for some hours to emote in his own company after that. He made haste in the cool halls of the dormitory, his steps echoing against flagstone, until he rounded the corner of the hallway that ended in a T junction. Chrom's room was the first on the right, and the heavy pine door was slightly ajar; sounds from inside leaking out where only the walls and the high beams of the ceiling (and now Frederick) could eavesdrop. 

 _"...have offered to acknowledge your title anyway. You fought well."_ A frustratingly familiar voice reasoned, accompanied by the gentle click of a drawer, or perhaps a cupboard, closing.

_"I don't want that."_

_"I know you don't."_ The familiar voice responded too quickly, like they knew what Chrom was going to say before he said it.

Frederick was conflicted between announcing his presence and leaving - the topic and Robin's presence intrigued him to join the conversation, but he reasoned that he would probably end the chat with his entrance.

_"You know, they'll support us anyway... We assured that when we defeated Marth."_

_"...Yes."_ There was silence between them.

_"What are you truly upset about?"_

_"You always were good at reading me."_

_"Chrom, your face is like an open book - you couldn't fool a child."_

Chrom laughed, and there was a sound of movement, like the creaking of a chair as someone shifted in it.

 

"Hang on," Robin's tone changed, projecting like he was announcing something important. "It's rude to eavesdrop, if rather unexpected of you. You should come inside now."  
Frederick's face felt hot with shame as he carefully pushed the door open, clearing his throat embarrassedly. Chrom's eyebrows raised, surprised but unimpressed. He reclined in his chair, his chin resting on his forearm, which was hanging from the chair's top rail.  
Robin tutted. "It's not like you to listen in. Your footsteps are loud and distinct as a stampeding horse, though."

"I apologise. I had come to visit Milord, but I was hesitant to interrupt your discussion." Frederick bowed his head in apology, his hand at a fist against his heart as a symbol of fealty. 

"It's quite all right, Frederick. What did you need?" Chrom motioned with his fingers for Frederick to raise his head - he seemed to dislike all of the formalities, more so now than ever since he had become Exalt - Frederick habitually fell into etiquette, especially when multiple people were present.

"Lady Lissa mentioned you had a lot of paperwork to do. I came to advise you to take a rest, and prepare for supper."

"Ah! Supper. It entirely slipped my mind. Thank you for reminding me." Chrom slid out of his restful position and turned to retrieve his cape.

Robin, in contrast, hadn't moved from resting his backside lazily against Chrom's desk, the heels of his hands braced against the edge of it. His mouth was in a thin line; his eyes unfocused like he was far away. They suddenly snapped up to face Frederick with intensity.  
"Frederick, I'd like your opinion. As you might have heard, Basilio and Flavia have accepted Chrom's request to acknowledge him as Exalt despite his loss. Do you think we should take it?" 

Chrom's muffled voice protested from inside his closet. "I'm not going to accept it; I told you."

"I don't care what you think! I'm asking _him_." The casual manner in which Robin addressed Chrom would have made Frederick itch with irritation once upon a time, but it now lit his chest up with warm humour.

"Robin, is it really up to me to decide that?"

"I want to know what you would do. I value your opinion, or I wouldn't bother arguing with you at all hours of the day."

Frederick paused for a moment in consideration. What _would_ he do? What was best for the people, naturally.  
"I suppose I would have to accept the offer." Chrom grumbled from afar. 

"Thank you for having some sense." Robin gestured in Frederick's direction with his palm in acknowledgement as he spoke.

"Frederick, I can't accept the offer. I lost the battle."

"Milord, if I may-"

"You may not." Chrom's head appeared before the rest of his body followed suit. "I have made up my mind."

"Lord Chrom, you are behaving uncharacteristically pig-headedly right now, and I should ask you to seek my counsel before you make such final statements." Frederick was a little shocked by the force of his own words.  
Robin laughed like a gleeful child, slapping his knees with both arms as if he couldn't contain himself. 

Chom blinked, his hands, which still held the tip of his cape, paused in front of him. "...Very well. Make your case."

Frederick cleared his throat a second time. "I think that...you have to act in the interest of your people instead of your pride in this case. It would be advisable to accept their blessing; it means little to them, and a lot to us - therefore, it is not a strain on the Khans, and our people would feel more comforted by having paperwork to support their claim of allyship. You lost, and what did you expect? You accepted a foolish challenge from the two finest fighters in Ferox, and acted with surprise when you came out with wounded ego and a sore bottom." The rosy film of the battle had been lost on Frederick now; he could see the ridiculous risk in the gesture. Even if Chrom had won, he would have done so out of luck. Frederick was cross with his lord's brash actions.

Chrom was quiet and pensive. Robin was delighted.

 

A silence passed between them.

 

"Well, that was interesting. I'm going to wash up before my meal, so, I'll leave you two for now. Chrom, I'd still like to discuss some things with you later." Robin made his way out of the room, and the silence continued for a moment.

 

"I apologise if I was too harsh, Milord."

"No, no, Frederick, you had every right to say what you said...That being so, I don't feel particularly hungry anymore." Frederick's stomach dropped as Chrom set his cape down on the back of his chair. "I'd like to be left to my thoughts for a little while, if you don't mind."

Well, that went horribly. "...Of course." Frederick bowed again and turned to leave.  
As he returned to the central hallway, he was pounced upon. 

"I always knew you had a sense of humour under all that armour," Robin gushed, speed-walking beside Frederick to keep up with his brisk pace.

"Thank you for that, Robin; you always know how to goad me just so that I end up forgetting my manners."

"He needed to hear it from someone who isn't me; I'm always rude to him."

"I've noticed." He couldn't make up his mind if Robin was a good or bad influence on Chrom, but it wasn't as hard to observe the negative impact he had on Frederick.

"You don't think that pride was the whole reason he was sulking about the fight, right?"

So this was why he had waited. Frederick took the bait. "What's your theory?"

"Well," Robin launched into his explanation with fervour. "I think that it's stress from the weight of Emmeryn's legacy. He's worried because he can't make peace like she did, and he doesn't have the mind she did. And, now, he's failed to do what he does best. That's why he proposed the fight, and why he can't accept his loss."

"You think he proposed the fight?"

"Of course he did! Basilio and Flavia would always have fought him to play along with a silly Ylissean custom, but they wouldn't be so cruel to make him fight the both of them unless it was a matter that was of great cost to them."

Frederick considered this. "What do you think I'm about to say, Robin?"

"You're about to say 'I suppose you might be right', and, 'Robin, you are so wonderful that I have fallen in love with you.'"

"Yes, that was mostly the content of my thoughts," Frederick rolled his eyes, peering curiously at a Robin who was now staring intently at the ground behind the curtain of his hair. "Do you think that he is upset with me?" He blurted his true frustrations out with a sigh.

"...Of course not, Frederick. You told him what he was already thinking in the back of his mind - he needed it. He's frustrated with himself, but he'll get over it." Frederick remained silent. "Are you struggling with this?"

"Robin, I," He began, and his steps fell to a halt as they neared an area of the building Frederick knew would not be empty. "It's not that I'm afraid to be honest with Lord Chrom, as much as you may think that. He needs someone to be a positive force for him; someone in his corner. I have tried very hard not to be a father figure to him, because I know that he does not want that. Still, I had decided that I would reassure him to the end of his days because he receives so much criticism so often from everyone else."  
Frederick considered the stressful title of Exalt. Chrom had not expected this role to fall on his shoulders ever as the second child, and he was glad of it. The nosey eyes of his inherited advisors, and lords across the land, as well as the expectations of his people, was a weighty burden to carry. 

"I see. I'm sorry that I had you say those things to him. I understand why you would want to be a positive force in his life."

Frederick laughed dryly. "It's not your fault, Robin; you didn't blackmail me into saying the words. You just asked me what I thought. Sometimes, a positive force...needs a steadying hand."

Robin put his hand on Frederick's shoulder. "You know, you are so very good to him, and to all of us. We are very lucky to have you on the team."

"Thank you, Robin. I appreciate that."

Robin gave Frederick's shoulder a pat. "Okay, I'm going to wash up for real now. I'll see you out there?" 

"You will." Frederick left first to head towards his room.

 

*

 

Frederick had all-but forgotten his post-battle frustration with Robin in the whirlwind of his unexpected appearance in the time after his defeat. Having a steady opinion of Robin was impossible - he grew as quickly and raged as harshly as fire at times, but he could also be profound, and layered with sadness.  
Something akin to emotional whiplash had dragged Frederick through the gutter today. No matter how much information Robin gifted about what was going on inside his heart, he was still a mystery.  
Despite being relatively certain now of the reason behind Robin’s actions, Frederick still wanted to know what he had to say for himself. If he could get Robin to admit anything which supported his hypothesis, then he would be satisfied, he decided. This was why he was going to find Robin in the dining hall, and it had absolutely nothing to do with enjoying Robin's presence. 

Entering the dining hall, he noted it was distinctly less overwhelming in atmosphere than the previous night. About a third of the congregation were absent - the groups of mercenaries who had been visiting left earlier in the afternoon once the excitement was over. In spite of this, the room was more sparsely populated - instead of crowding around the main table like Basilio and Flavia had assigned last night, the Shepherds and their cohorts had spread out into cliques over smaller tables and benches. Mammoth plates of unfamiliar dishes lay buffet-style across the main table, and Frederick was...sparing in his portions, just in case.  
Scanning the area, he felt an embarrassing wave of disappointment flow over him as he failed to recognise distinctly pale hair in any of these groups. Robin was, indeed, never where he said he was going to be - Frederick wondered if this was his way of keeping people on their toes, or if he really was just that scatter-brained. 

Instead, Frederick found Sully, Cordelia and Lissa by a window, and set his plate down beside them. "Hello, everyone."

"Freddy!" Lissa exclaimed, punctuating her yell with a bash of her cutlery against the table. "How was Chrom? Did you find out anything?"

Frederick pulled a handkerchief out from his pocket, and tucked it into his shirt collar to protect his clothes from food stains. "Not a substantial amount; no. He's not coming to dinner, though. He was talking to Robin when I arrived."

Cordelia perked up at the mention of Robin, resting her chin on her hand thoughtfully. "And how is Robin doing?"

"...He's fine." Frederick wasn't sure he liked the way she was staring at him.

"I thought that he might be sore after losing the match against you, but I haven't been able to find him since Chrom's battle ended."

"He was in his usual spirits, as far as I could tell."

She met eyes with Sully, who was sitting next to her, and nudged her lightly on the arm with her elbow. Sully looked up from her plate helplessly  
"I, uh...So you and Robin, huh?" 

"Sully!" Cordelia hissed, and Sully looked bewildered, hissing back an aggressive ‘ _what’_ in response.

Frederick felt like he didn't want to have this conversation, but he ventured on anyway. That was becoming a bit of a theme of his life. "Me...and Robin?"

"You're bo-"

Cordelia began to cough uncontrollably, interrupting whatever Sully was about to say.

"Oh no!" Lissa cried. "We should get her something to drink." Sully got up at that and ran to the buffet table. Frederick, instead, did the smart thing, and offered her his untouched glass.

After having a drink, Cordelia was miraculously recovered. "Thank you. What we were saying is we noticed you and Robin are good friends now!"

"I suppose that we are talking more, yes. Primarily for work reasons, and that we both have Chrom in common." Frederick's instinctual reaction was to say that he and Robin were _not_ friends, but he supposed that would be childish, and perhaps also not entirely accurate.

"We're so glad you're enjoying each other's company now. I don’t mean to be cruel, but the way you two used to be at each other's throats was not that great for the team."

For the team, of course. For the Shepherds' sake, Frederick would befriend Robin. But he also supposed that he enjoyed Robin's company. Did Robin enjoy Frederick's company, though?  
Robin often seemed to be chatty with Frederick, but he was like that with everybody. His good humour allowed him to befriend most people he met. Not only this, but his time with Frederick was always fleeting. It was quite possible that Robin didn't care for Frederick at all, and was just doing what he had to do to benefit the team, as Cordelia had suggested.  
Frederick was more hurt by that thought than he would like to admit.

 

"...Frederick?" 

"Oh! Yes. For the team, yes. Robin and I decided it was time to settle our differences to take some stress off of you all." He tried to smile at that, but Cordelia looked unsatisfied.

Sully returned with a glass, which she set on the table, before patting Frederick on the back knowingly. "Be safe, okay?"

The table was silent. He had no idea what she was referring to, but decided to assume for his own sanity that she was just being polite. "Thank you."

 

*

 

Frederick had little to pack from the room he had spent a short amount of time in, but he still cleared it early; before Chrom had an official audience with Basilio and Flavia. His nerves ate away at his concentration; his suits folded awkwardly into his travel sack, and he continually stopped mid-fold to stare into the distance.  
It was very likely that Frederick had said the wrong thing to Chrom last night. It was even more likely that Chrom would refuse Basilio and Flavia's deal. Then, what next? Frederick was going to have to deal with Chrom's advisors back home when they found out that the mission was a failure - it would be too much stress on Chrom to deal with it all by himself. 

His mind was preoccupied with making up what to say in his head. He still felt upset that Chrom had acted out of pride, but the feeling was blunted. Frederick’s  heart went out to him, really.  
Exalt was merely a title, and Chrom was human. He had grown up in a royal family, of course, but there were no shortcuts to mastering one's own emotions - no sovereign off switches for hurt, and there were only so many times one could push your negativity down in favour of the greater good before everything snapped.  
At the end of the day, his duty was to serve Chrom as best he could. If Chrom decided not to accept the recognition, then Frederick would follow.

 

*

 

The audience hall looked like it hadn't been used in decades. All the rooms in Arena Ferox looked relatively bare, and functional, a testament to its people; but this one left the distinct impression that the architect had tacked it on as an afterthought - knowing that an area where a Khan would sit on a throne instead of being out on the battlefield would be seldom in use.  
Frederick noted with distaste the distinct smell of must in the air; the windows grubby with time, the carpet moth-eaten and covered in muddy tracks from heavy boots. They could have at least run a duster through the room. He decided that they probably wouldn't linger here too long.   
He took his place a short distance from Chrom's back, his arms falling into a clasp behind him at his waist. They stood facing the thrones, which the Khans were stood up in front of - Frederick wasn't sure if they didn't want to waste too much time in here, or if the thrones were just in such bad condition that they couldn't be sat on.  
Chrom was directly in front of them. He went to kneel, as was customary for one visiting the aristocracy of another land, but Flavia snapped her fingers at him with a look of disdain, and he rose. 

"Shepherds," She addressed, "your leader has fought valiantly. As I lay in my bed last evening, I thought that my old bones had seen their last battle," her laugh was accompanied by a few members of the audience. "In light of that, I see no reason why I should not renew my offer of allegiance to Ylisse, but, more specifically, to you all. Chrom, I hope that you will accept my terms." 

Frederick held his breath as Chrom turned his head back to meet Frederick's gaze nervously, like a child leaving their parents on the first day of school. Chrom sighed shakily and turned back to Flavia.  
"It is with great pleasure that I accept your offer, and I thank you greatly for indulging our custom on this. I know that you have other duties to attend to." 

Frederick might have shed a tear. Thank goodness. Chrom had listened to his advice. Frederick gazed around the room, and saw Robin, who was looking back at him with a glowing smile. His heart skip a beat at the thought that they had worked together, and Robin was pleased.

 

*

 

There was even less of a rush to get home than there was to get to Ferox. They might have stayed there another day or two, but Chrom was exhausted, and everybody was ready to be back on familiar ground. 

Some days later, they arrived back at Ylisstol Castle, where the glow of evening had just begun to settle in. The Shepherds dispersed like ants as soon as they were dismissed, leaving Chrom, Lissa, Robin and Frederick to be the bearers of good news.

 

*

Frederick unpacked his sack carefully onto his bed. A small, shiny object came tumbling out from between one of his shirts, trampolining off the bed and rolled in a pathetic circle on the floorboards before falling flat on its face. He recognised it as the compass he had bought to gift to his mother. The object reminded him again of Robin - Frederick would be rushing off any day now to visit his mother's house, while Chrom buried himself in practicalities and the rest of the Shepherds took some well-earned time off. Robin would be left lingering about the castle with little purpose - a fate which Frederick would find hard to bear. Perhaps it would benefit Robin to go on a journey outside of the castle walls that did not include strategising and battle.

 

*

 

Pacing nervously outside of Robin's bedroom door, Frederick debated the risk/reward of asking Robin about this. Was it strange? Would Robin feel forced to go? Worse yet, would he be horrified at the suggestion? This stupid idea of his was eating away at him; he ran his hands through his hair as he circled back and forth in the hallway.  
There was a distinct clunking noise from inside Robin's room, followed by a muffled curse and some footsteps. Frederick was frozen with shock, and all he could do was watch, horrified, as Robin opened the door and found Frederick waiting outside for him.  
"You really need to do something about this habit of loitering outside of people's rooms," He stared tiredly for a moment, and then turned on his heel, back into the room, leaving the door wide open. Frederick took the invitation to enter. 

Frederick had only entered Robin's room once before; when he was first showing Robin around the castle, and the place had been empty of all but necessary furniture. Now, the room looked like a kitsch nightmare; tapestries, blankets and cushions of all design were placed strategically around the room to make anywhere a sitting spot, and where there was a sitting spot, there were books and pieces of parchment with scribbles and doodles all over them. The curtains were open in his room, despite the hour, and moonlight streamed in, tinting the warm reds and golds a shade of grey.  
Robin's desk was covered in more books and parchment, but also a surprising number of trinkets from their journeys - Frederick had seen Robin pick up one or two items before, but it looked more like Robin had bought something every time they went away; a memory of each passing place and time. It was almost Plegian in decor, Frederick noted, from the short time he had spent in the country.  
Robin's bed was messy and unmade. He went to sit down on it, cross-legged, and patted the spot next to him when Frederick dithered in place. 

"Robin," Frederick began, seating his large body on Robin's remarkably small bed, and feeling the walls close in on him a little, "you aren't invested in anything of use over the next week or so, are you?" 

Robin's face immediately went sour. "Are you going to give me cleaning to do? Please do not do that." 

Frederick was bewildered. "That's not a very nice assumption! I hardly ever give you cleaning tasks!" 

"Sorry, it's just, you never come to see me unless you want me to do something." 

"...I suppose you are correct on that count. I actually wanted to ask you something." 

Robin's eyebrows raised. "Go on." 

"Well, you see - it's just that, I know Chrom is going to be very busy, and so are most of the Shepherds, and I will be away for a short time when I am not invested in my own work. As a tactician, you haven't many duties outside of battle, and you don't have a family to visit-"

"I'm aware of my own circumstances, yes." Robin finished, clearly urging Frederick to get to the point.

"Would you like to come and visit my mother with me?"

Silence. Robin blinked a few times, not quite knowing how to respond. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I, well, it's not that you have to - I'm not trying to keep an eye on you or anything, or force you out of your comfort zone, I... I just thought you might get lonely." Frederick trailed off. This had been a bad idea after all. And, painfully awkward. Were there any rewards to this scenario in the first place?

"Frederick, I'd love to!" They met eyes, and Robin was glowing. "I was so worried about how I was going to preoccupy myself. Last time Chrom wasn't around Lissa and I ended up in a prank war and it got more and more dangerous until-" He stifled a laugh, looking up at Frederick embarrassedly.

"I remember that day. I was the victim." Robin and Lissa had this competition some months ago, whilst Chrom was away on official business. Their pranks were aimed at each other, mostly, switching condiments and booby-trapping each other's rooms, but too often ended up with collateral damage. The last prank was such that Frederick had gone to check on Lissa's favourite horse, and ended up in a pile of chicken feathers with a face full of some sticky substance he still didn’t want to be able to identify. He had put an end to the war after that.

"I hope you can forgive me, and still want to take me to meet her." His eyes glazed over for a moment. "Does she look like you?"

"Yes, somewhat. She is my mother, after all."

"That's so nice. Chrom and Lissa don't look much alike, but Emmeryn always looked like them both." His gaze had gotten even more distant, and he bit his lip, his thoughts far away.

Frederick regarded Robin with fondness, watching the way his grey lashes tinted white in the moonlight. "You'll be able to make your own family, someday. Have children who look just like you."

Robin looked up at him, a glint of something melancholy in his eyes. "I hope so."

 

It was at that moment that Lissa skidded through the open door, almost tripping over a stray cushion in her rush. "Oh, Frederick, you're here too; that's good!" She was red in the face, and breathless.

"Lissa, what's wrong?" Robin asked immediately.

"Chrom, he-I don't know all the details, but, there was an argument between his advisors, and he's fired some of them, and the court-well, you should come and see for yourselves. I think he could use the both of you right now."

Frederick stood immediately, slipping past Lissa to run down the hallway towards the council room. This was what Frederick had been prepared for since Chrom had known he was to become Exalt. Chrom was a man of the people - not of the stuffy leaders who sat around in a room deciding on policy all day. He had maintained his patience with them for some time but the fire in him to actually get something done instead of discussing left him short and rude with the advisors - there had been talk, especially of late, about Chrom's manners, and it didn't bode well.

The council room was a mess. Parchment was strewn about everywhere, chairs hastily left untucked, or thrown onto their backs. Two councillors remained seated in their chairs, one watching Chrom with worry and another with her head in her hands.  
Chrom was stood from his chair, holding the back of it with an iron grip as if to maintain his balance. He turned when Frederick entered, and the stony expression on his face turned to something like helplessness. 

"What in the Gods' names happened here?" Frederick questioned, and he had already begun to pick up chairs and stray papers; needing a sense of harmony in the room if he was going to think through what to do about the situation.

"We had...a disagreement." Chrom surmised, speaking through his teeth as if he was holding his self control by a needle thread.

Frederick gave up on the papers for a moment. "Milord, would you like to return to your quarters?" It was a diplomatic way of instructing Chrom that the issue would be best dealt with without him present. Chrom nodded sharply, and quickly left the room.

The female advisor lifted her head at that. "That was a disaster."

"To say the least. Can you tell me what went on?"

"We were discussing some concerns of the Lords on reapplication of the budget provided by the Royal Treasury. Our Exalt sees no reason why he should expand the benefits provided to the Lords. It is of the council's opinion that if the Lords' demands are left unmet, there will be an uprising."

"And what happened to the rest of the council?"

"Lord Chrom dismissed two officials, and the rest left in anger. He has never been this obtuse before - forgive my rudeness, but did something happen on your journey to Ferox?"

"Nothing of particular interest," Frederick lied, and gathered the most important papers he could see in his hands before he turned to leave. "I will speak with Lord Chrom and get back to you. In the meantime, you are temporarily dismissed."

 

*

 

Frederick found Chrom, Robin and Sumia in Chrom's quarters. Chrom seemed very agitated, leaning in to Sumia's embrace as they sat on his bed. Robin was at the other end of the room, his eyes closed in concentration.

"Milord," he acknowledged as he entered.

"Frederick. Thank you for stepping in back there...What did you say to the council?"

He raised an eyebrow as he dumped his pile of parchment unceremoniously onto Chrom's desk. "What is left of the council has been discharged until further notice. I have sent for a maid to sort through the files left in the council room."

Chrom put his head in his hands, and made a wailing noise. "I really am a failure of an Exalt to have my knight perform my duties in my stead."

Frederick crouched in front of Chrom, and waited for him to look up. "Everybody has days like this. Even an Exalt."

"Not Emmeryn," Chrom noted miserably. Sumia rubbed his back in comforting circles.

"Even Emmeryn. Perhaps it is easier to remember all of the things she handled better than you. But that is because you are upset."

Chrom looked like Frederick hadn't even spoken. "I'm not fit to be Exalt. I don't know...I don't know if I can do this anymore." His voice cracked at the end of his sentence, and the air seemed to get stiffer; the breath in the room more silent, until Frederick's ears began to ring.

"What are you talking about-of course you can do it," Frederick said in a rush, placing a hand on Chrom's knees. "It's not always going to be this difficult. You've barely started."

"I've never been this hopeless, Frederick. Everything I say, all the work I complete - it never seems to be enough, and there's always something wrong and someone dissatisfied."

Robin chimed in at that. "It was the same for Emmeryn - you know that she struggled to maintain the balance too."

"Yes, but she always handled it better than me, Robin - I fear after this my council will no longer trust me to hold meetings or talk to them in confidence. How can I possibly look them in the face again after my outburst?"

"These councilors have seen you grow up, Chrom," Sumia reminded softly. "They saw you break castle furniture, and wet yourself, and have family arguments. This is all going to blow over, just like those did."

"It's not the same!" Chrom pulled himself away from Frederick and Sumia's hands, standing up in defiance. "It's not. I wasn't in a position of such power back then - I'm twenty-two now, I should be able to control myself, and I didn't listen to them, and I will do this again and again until the kingdom collapses around me," Chrom held his forehead with a hand like he had a headache. "I don't know if I can do this for much longer, and I think we need to make some preparations for alternate ruling." At that, he fled the room, and nobody followed him; too shocked at what he had just said.

"Alternate ruling, like a new Exalt?" Sumia asked like she couldn't understand the words that were coming out of her mouth.

"Or a governing body with an acting monarchy." Robin added unhelpfully. Sumia ran her hands through her hair. "But that's not going to happen. We're going to help Chrom pull through this."

"What are you proposing, Robin?" Frederick felt exhausted, and was more than happy to let Robin take over - having someone else take charge for once was freeing, and Robin's mind was invaluable at times like this.

"I think I have a plan, but it's still in pieces in my head. Give me the rest of tonight, and I will visit you tomorrow." He promised, and Frederick believed him. Come morning, Robin would have a way to help Chrom, and Frederick would follow him unquestionably - because Frederick trusted him implicitly, but also because he had no idea what else to do.  
The idea that Chrom could have another impossible outcome - another loss, on such a scale, which would shake the foundations of the entire country - was incredibly hard to think about.

 

Frederick could only hope and pray that his faith was placed correctly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! I wrote this chapter because I really wanted to write something from frederick's perspective. i, too, am a virgo with a rock collection, so i feel like we share some traits. i'm officially adding the tag 'slow burn' to this fic lmao  
> i hope you guys are enjoying the appearances of other characters as much as i am. i know a lot of slash fics can be like "oh please get to the bit where they kiss" and there are some planned moments like that but as i'm sure you've realised by reading all...17k(?) words of this fic i'm very into messing with tension. anything that's left untied at this point has (hopefully) been done so on purpose.  
> thank you so much to everyone who is taking a chance on my work! i really do appreciate that the writing that started off as indulgence for me basically can be enjoyed by other people too.
> 
> thanking my best buddy is going to become a recurring theme in these here notes but THANK YOU JOEY for brainstorming fredrobin with me and being so patient with all of my headcanons...i love u forever
> 
> hopefully i will be up with the next chapter sometime soon! i'm between exams right now but uploading has been pretty regular for me anyway so we'll see how it goes.


	4. lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrom and Robin clash. The fate of the country is put on hold for a warm meal.

_Breathing was becoming impossible. His throat felt sore with desperation as he took in wheezing gulps, trying to fathom his last moments and failing. It was always him - he always had to die. That was the happy ending._  
_Something wet pooled at his skin, making him feel fevers of sweaty heat and clammy cold washing in and out like a tide wherever it touched - his body went into panic mode as he made sense of the liquid as his blood. Life was funny that way. You could turn your back on humanity as much as you liked - no matter how much you distanced yourself from your own mortality it would always come to find you._  
_The cold numbness in his fingers was all he could think about now, and it was making him hysterical. His head was screaming and his heart was pounding and nobody was coming to save him._  
_Being saved was reserved for the morally righteous. As if being good was a choice, and not an unfortunate circumstance of fate. Those who were good were born lucky - to know love and hope and not be disillusioned by it; to innocently trust, and to be saved when you made mistakes, no matter how many or how grave._

_If you were born unlucky, you died alone._

 

*

Sunlight filtered through Robin's curtains, rudely reaching in so that the light hit the centre of his parchment in a golden rectangle that he had to squint to look at. The sun was an unavoidable notice that his time had run out; daybreak signalling the last drops of sand hitting the base of the hourglass with doomed finality.  
Scribbles turned ostensibly illegible as he had become more tired; he could hardly read his own handwriting - but it didn't matter, because he knew exactly what his plan was.  
Books on Ylissean governing were piled up to the height of his head next to him on the desk, but he had barely touched them after removing them from the library. The things were contained with so much jargon and history Robin didn't know, so he could hardly make out what the authors were supposed to be referring to. The nerves in his gut twisted. The plan was one of fundamental reform, but the chances that it could be completely inapplicable and impossible to implement were painfully high. Still, if he could get the right people on board, he could push this through and make it work. 

Robin knew Frederick would be awake - if he hadn't stayed up all night, Frederick always woke before dawn broke. Robin scooped up his papers, looking around desperately for something to carry them in, and failing. There was no time for dawdling; Robin used his foot to yank the handle of his door open and ran through, stumbling a little as it swung back and nearly hit him in the backside. 

His destination was not far from here. Robin strode lightly, feeling weightless with lack of sleep. When he reached the door, he hardly remembered walking the distance to Frederick's room. Having no hands free to knock at the door, Robin did the next best thing - kicking the base of it with considerable force. The heavy sound was muffled by thick wood, but it was hopefully enough to be heard in the thrumming silence of the morning.

There was no sound for a moment, and Robin dreaded that Frederick might be elsewhere in the castle.

Then the door opened.

 

Frederick's hair was dripping wet; lines of water making rivulets down his neck, flowing into the towel he had draped around his shoulders. He was shirtless, the glow of the morning outlining a gloriously hairy chest, and thickly muscled bare arms. Fortunately enough, Frederick had dressed his lower half, in casual cotton trousers, tucked into calf-high leather boots and tied slightly too low on his waist. Robin bit his lip and tried to remember where he was.

 "Let me help you with that," Robin noted someone saying somewhere in the distance, and was surprised when Frederick lowered down onto his knees. He had to be dreaming right now; there was no way this was happening - he must have passed out some time ago, his body resorting to a comfortable wet dream; indulging his desires in the face of the stress he was feeling.

"Are you going to pick them up too, or are you giving me the pleasure of the whole job?" Frederick asked, and Robin snapped out of his fantasy. Parchment was scattered at his feet; Frederick staring up at him with a handful of papers and an expression of great irritation. 

"Oh! Oh, yes. Sorry. I didn't sleep last night."

"I understand; I got very little rest myself." They collected the parchment in silence for a moment. "I had to stop myself from going to his chambers multiple times over the evening."

Robin looked at Frederick's sorry face, and might have cradled it in his hands if they weren't filled with paper. "It's good that you didn't. He needed to sleep the day's events off."

"Indeed." Frederick agreed, and stood, inviting Robin over the threshold.

 

Frederick's room was not exactly what Robin had expected it to be. Instead of clean, immaculate furnishing with no signs of life, there were numerous decorations, all in their own scattered setup. His bookshelf was full to the brim; a couple of volumes even set face-down on the edge of the shelf, unable to squeeze in with the rest. The top of his desk was organised, into trays of paperwork; a small lantern sat near the centre, and beside it, a line of miscellaneous rocks in size-order leading all the way across the length of the tabletop. Robin's files now rested in the centre, the uneven stack looking out of place as a central chaos orbited by a world of order.  
His wardrobe was open, and inside was a spectrum of whites, blacks, pale blues and creams. Robin thought to himself that Frederick would look good in brown - maybe he would accept some new jumpers as birthday gifts.  
His bed was made meticulously, an unreasonable number of cushions huddled up neatly under a thick blanket. Robin noted the size of the bed; and realised that Frederick would probably need a special fit for his large frame. 

"I don't mean to press you, Robin, but I am feeling rather nervous." Frederick took the towel from his neck, folding it neatly and placing it atop a large trunk which sat at the base of his bed.

"Of course." Robin palmed through the documents he held in his hands. "Chrom wants reform, so... that's what I decided I'd do."

"Reform? I thought we were planning how to get him to see sense." Frederick sat down on his bad, hands clasped in a diplomatic pose in spite of the reservations he voiced. He always had reservations when it came to Robin's ideas.

"He wasn't saying this for no reason, Frederick; we need to listen to his desires. If he says he can't handle all the responsibilities of being an Exalt, we need to believe it to be true, and adjust ourselves accordingly."

Frederick was silent for a moment. "How can you be so level-headed about all of this?"

Robin felt the words like a dig into his gut. "I'm not calm," he lied. Something about chaos and hopelessness had always let Robin thrive and bloom, but he didn't feel comfortable sharing that. "At least listen to my plan. There are some big changes, but I think that it will save us all from a worse outcome."

"Very well, Robin; you have my full attention."

Robin sat opposite Frederick, at his desk chair. He still wasn't entirely sure what his handwriting said but he focused his gaze on it anyway.  
"The chain of power in Ylisse is like a pyramid. Chrom is at the top, as Exalt, he has the final say on all decisions. His advisors, and other councils, sit on the second level; landowners and lords on the third, and at the bottom of the chain is regular people. Because of this, Chrom has to cope with the issues of all three groups beneath him, and how they intersect with each other."  
The scrawled text turned into doodles halfway down the page; diagrams Robin had depicted to help him make sense of the structure.  
"Chrom's largest issues are with the lords and landowners. That's because the crown relies on them fiscally. In that sense, I don't think I can do anything about them, at least for now - if we change their lives too greatly, they will start to feel unstable. All that's going to change is who they communicate with and how they go about that. Frederick, what I'm proposing is forming a governing body with a figurehead." 

Robin paused to let Frederick take in the information, but he looked almost like he wasn't going to respond.

"A-figurehead? As in, Chrom having no power? I thought that was what we didn't want."

"Not exactly. The title of Exalt will be one whose duties include mostly traditions and symbolic gestures."

Frederick's forehead strained. "Robin, I really think that-"

"You promised you'd listen! I'm not done." He was silent. " _However_ ," Robin stressed, "that's not going to be Chrom's only title. If we go ahead with my plan, he could be some sort of governor; I don't have a term yet, I couldn't read any Ylissean history books in one night, but this technicality would allow for sharing of power between multiple individuals, or one big group. It would be like having advisors who could make policy and break it." There were further details, but Robin had finished his main pitch, thinking it best to not overload Frederick's head.

He expected Frederick to be angry about it for a while, or tell him to go away, but he instead sat still for a full minute. Robin could practically see the objections raise in his head and be shot down systematically. Frederick sighed deeply. His hands went to the back of his neck, his elbows rested on his knees as he bent down facing his lap.

"Robin?"

"Yes?"

"Let's do this."

 

*

 

Chrom was not in his quarters when they went to look for him. In fact, nobody had reported seeing him between midnight and daybreak. Frederick's anxiety was palpable, and Robin attempted to reassure him, but his own dread only grew the more they searched and found nothing.

"Maybe we should split up," Robin suggested, but his heart told him no; he didn't quite trust Frederick alone in his fragile state, nor did he want to be alone.

Frederick looked similarly displeased at the thought. "We have searched the entire castle. Unless he's out mingling with the general public, I don't see any reason we'll find him unless he wants to be found." Robin sighed and his shoulders slumped with the weight, and he jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Wait! Outside, Robin!"

Robin's sleeplessness was starting to catch up with him. The stone floor looked a cool and comfortable place to nap. "...Outside?"

"There are two places he could be. The training grounds, or the gardens. As a young man he would often retreat there after family arguments and other stresses."

"We spent how long searching inside for him, and just now you are suggesting this?" Robin looked at Frederick with great displeasure.

"It's been rather a long time since he's had a tantrum; I’m surprised I remembered it at all!" He replied indignantly.

"All right, then, let's go to the gardens."

 

*

 

They saw Sumia first - the light tones in her ash blonde locks glinting in the sunlight as she splayed in the grass. Her gentle voice made soft hums leading Frederick and Robin with soft lilts along the winding paths, the blinding smile on her face filling Robin with a sense of calm as they approached. Musical laughter filled the air for a moment, and then stopped short at their arrival, where Sumia's head snapped up and her expression turned solemn.

Chrom had been stood at Sumia's feet, his arms stretched wide, the Falchion in his hand as he punctuated the story he was telling with a grand swing of the sword. For a moment, his face had been free of worry - he looked like a version of himself from a different time. When he saw his guests, his arms dropped to his sides. The sun retreated into the branches of the trees, following the shadows of stress in his expression. The dispirited look on his face hit Robin's chest with a harsh pang.  
"Ah, you two." He greeted, sheathing his sword at his side, "...I apologise for my outburst last night." He seemed to be thinking very hard about what to say next, and coming up blank. 

Robin took this as a chance to speak. "It's all right, Chrom, and it's all going to be okay. I think I know how we can solve this."

"Solve?" Chrom looked up like he hadn't renounced the throne some hours ago. "There's nothing to solve. I was just behaving like a child."

"No, your concerns were perfectly valid. If you let me, I can help you."

"There...appears to be some sort of misunderstanding. I don't need any help." Chrom seemed to be trying to keep polite, but the impatience was showing in his tense smile.

"Don't need any?" Robin couldn't help it; he scoffed. "You've been bending under the weight of Exalt since before they formally crowned you. You told me that you couldn't do this by yourself and I have come to help you whether you like it or not."

Usually, in situations like these, Robin would snap Chrom out of his mood just like that. Notifying him of his behaviour always made him reconsider - he trusted the Robin had his best interests at heart. This time, Robin was wrong.

Chrom's face twisted. "You know what, Robin? I am sick and tired of you telling me how to feel. You always have the right answer, don't you? Do you really think that you are that much smarter than anybody else?" If Chrom's expressions had hurt, it was nothing compared to the edge in his words. Some familiar feeling of asphyxiation suddenly held him, and all he could do was stare in shocked silence.

"Chrom, wait a minute. You don't mean what you're saying." Sumia's tone was diplomatic, but she was cautious - she sat up, and her body was rigid as she watched Chrom. Her gaze was steady; perhaps she had been expecting this.

"It needs to be said! It's like I was never Exalt in the first place! All I do is take people's polite suggestions. I am the most powerful man in this country and, yet, for some reason nobody seems to consider what I think!" With that, Chrom left again - and there was the same sense of despair as the night before, but this time heavier, with the weight of rejection.  
Chrom had never rejected Robin before. Everything he said was put into consideration; Chrom gave Robin's words weight and his thoughts validation. Had Robin ever done the same for his friend? He thought back to Frederick, and what he had said about the negativity Chrom had experienced in his life. What percentage of that was Robin's put-downs, his 'friendly advice'? How much of that was there to make Robin feel important, instead of to actually help Chrom?

Robin sank to his knees. He suddenly couldn't bear the weight of himself, the form of his body so disgusting that he had to escape it. It felt like his skin was made of slime - hot and dripping and searing him in.

"Robin, breathe!" Frederick was crouched in front of him, his hands found their ways to Robin's shoulders, and the steadying grip was like a vice to the earth. "Sumia, don't worry about Robin; I'll stay with him. Please find Chrom in my stead."

"What have I _done_ , Frederick?" He whispered hoarsely, and he realised he was crying, messily and disgustingly and the weight of the tears on his face just made him feel worse.

"You were doing your best for him, Robin."

"No, I was doing my best for me! All I ever do is things for myself. All of my actions, they're motivated to make me seem smart and useful; he's right! I can't let anyone else one-up me – because what then? Who am I then? If I stop being the smartest person in the room, there's nothing left. I am no-one."

"You are _not_ no-one. Look at me, Robin." Robin wiped his tears and faced up at Frederick. "You are a young man who has lost his memories. You would be finding yourself at this age anyway; it doesn't help that you have no foundations. But there is so much to you even without all of that. You are so good with people, Robin, because you are always thinking about them - I see it in your wit, in the time and energy you expend into planning, in your fears and your worries. You don't know that you care, but _I_ know that you care. I have witnessed you caring. Who you are is a man who risks his life for the people he loves, and that is one of the most admirable things to be in life." 

Robin rested his head on Frederick's shoulder, and Frederick wrapped his arms around Robin's waist, his big hands embracing Robin up to his shoulder blades and holding him together with firm strength. "Frederick, I don't know what to do," Robin admitted into shirt material, and he felt extremely vulnerable.

Frederick sighed, and thought for a moment.  
"You're going to pack your bags, and you and I are going to leave for my mother's house this afternoon."

"But, Chrom-we have to-"

"You told me we had to listen to Chrom, and he said he was fine. Regardless of the truth of his words, he needs time before he is going to accept any changes."

"…All-right. Thank you, Frederick."

 

*

 

Robin's room was still filled with evidence of his long night when he re-entered. Somehow he felt like it should all be gone now; like it was a ghost, it had happened years ago. He tried to ignore the books that were everywhere as he brought clothes and toiletries back and forth to his bag. He ended up tripping on a cushion, and he felt such rage at the event that he picked it up and sought revenge in beating the thing against the wall like it had personally mocked his struggle. His reaction just made him feel worse. What place was he in to be getting angry at an object?

As he dropped the thing, there was a knock at his door. "I'll be out in a minute, Frederick," He guessed the visitor; although there were no loud footsteps, nobody else would be visiting at this time.  
Robin went to his closet, but the knock happened again. Irritation flared again for a moment, but he pushed it down, and went to the door.

"Chrom," He addressed breathlessly.

"Hello, Robin. I'm sorry, I don't know if you're okay to talk right now; if you're not you can send me away and I won't kick up a fuss - it's just, I heard you were leaving, and, I didn't want to leave things like this."

Robin opened his door wider and stepped to the side in response. He wasn't sure if he could say anything. His eyes still felt puffy and his throat was hoarse, but he couldn't deny Chrom of this; he still felt guilty for everything else he had ignored.

"I'm so sorry, Robin," Chrom began as he entered the room. "I shouldn't have said what I said. I know that you had- _have_ my best interests at heart, and I want to make it clear that I was absolutely projecting my feelings about everything else onto you, which was so, so wrong of me."  
Robin sat on the bed. He felt his eyes prick up like he was going to cry again.  
"Robin?" 

"Chrom, you had every right to say what you said to me. I don't regret you saying it to me, and I'm not upset with you." He started, his head trying to come up with the right thing to say faster than he could word-vomit. "The way I have been treating you lately has been about guessing your emotional state and trying to solve it instead of just asking you how you are feeling. You are my best friend and I treated you just like everyone else does. I forgot you're human too." He looked up at Chrom with emotion, who was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, like he didn't know how to respond.

"I kind of came in here hoping that you would yell at me. Now I don't know what to say." He gazed helplessly at Robin, who laughed aloud, if somewhat dryly.

"Please, Chrom, never change. I mean that. You are wonderful the way you are, and nothing anybody has to say about the way you talk, or your opinions, changes that."

Chrom's stress broke for a moment, a genuine smile on his face. "Thank you, Robin....Are we okay?"

"Of course we are. The better question is, are _you_ okay?"

"With everything?" He paused for a moment. "I'm not sure. I still feel weighted down by all of this."

Robin stood up, and tied his bag closed. "Have a think about it all, while Frederick and I are away. You can tell me what you decide when we come back, and, whatever it is, I'll support you."

Chrom smiled. It wasn't that carefree face Robin had seen when he had stumbled upon him in the gardens, but it still made his heart feel lighter. "Aren't you going to tell me your plans? What am I going to decide without my tactician?"

"I'm not going to tell you what I think."

"Robin's mouth? Closed? My, I think the apocalypse is upon us!" They shared a laugh, and Robin put his hand on Chrom's shoulder.

"Please have a think about if you want to change anything, and if so, what. If you really are at a loss, my plans are still on Frederick's desk, so long as you can read my terrible handwriting."

"All right." They were silent for a moment. "So, you and Frederick, huh?"

Robin gasped dramatically. "Me and Frederick _what_?"

"You're going to meet the parents! You can't tell me that nothing is going on."

"First of all, _parent_ , and I'll have you know that Sir Frederick and I are comrades. Friends. Mutual advice sharers."

"Bedfellows."

"Chrom!" He smacked him on the arm playfully. "...Between you and me...I wouldn't mind."

"I _knew_ it! He's your type _and_ he tells you when you're being an asshole! It must be exhausting keeping it in your pants."

"Perhaps it will be a relief when I physically murder you and you don't have to worry about leading a country anymore."

"No, but seriously. Have you told him?"

Robin scoffed. "Chrom, he is not interested in me."

Chrom looked at him with a face of disbelief. "Are you stupid? You're the only person he talks to - even I can't get that much conversation out of him."

"Perhaps he sees me...as a friend. And I am more than happy to remain that way."

"No, you're not, and you're not going to do that to yourself. Robin, promise me you'll tell him."

"I can't, Chrom. If- _when_ he rejects me it will be incredibly awkward and a lot harder for me to do my job."

"Think realistically, Robin. Even in the impossible scenario where Frederick doesn't want to court you, he would be so keen to get back to a normal working environment that he would pretend like nothing happened."

Robin felt more urged by the pressure to start considering Chrom's advice more often instead of actually believing what he said. "...Perhaps you're right."

"See, you're even talking like him! You have to tell him."

Robin looked at Chrom with a barely contained smile. "Maybe."

"That's the spirit! Don't return here until he's in love with you."

"Gods, get out of my room."

 

*

 

Robin was absolutely exhausted by the time they had to go. It was early afternoon and it had been over a day since Robin had slept. He trudged out to the front courtyard and found that not even the noon sun could irritate him awake. Frederick was preparing his horse, attaching bags to some chains linked to the saddle.

"Ah, Robin!" Frederick greeted enthusiastically, taking Robin's sack from his hands. "I'm all ready to go, but I didn't know which horse you preferred to take."

"Yours, please. I'm too tired to ride a horse by myself - I'll end up running it into a lake, or something."

Frederick pursed his lips. "There are hardly any lakes in the city." He sighed; already resigned to his fate. "I suppose we shall need a bigger saddle."

 

*

 

Frederick's horse was huge and sturdy, much like its owner, and carried both their weights with little frustration. Robin wondered to himself how he was going to stay awake for the hours it would take them to get to the outskirts of Ylisstol; he imagined himself drifting to sleep and falling off the horse sideways.  
They had barely left the castle, and Robin already found a warm spot in the centre of Frederick's back, which he snuggled close to, at least enjoying the chance to be near him for a long period of time. Would it matter if he just...closed his eyes for a while? He was sure he wouldn’t fall asleep. The gentle rhythm of horseshoes against cobblestone and the smell of Frederick was the perfect environment for relaxation. 

"Ah!" Robin slipped, his head snapping forward and his arms tightening round Frederick's waist for dear life.

"Everything all right back there?"

"Yes! Fine. I'm fine."

"Please try to hold on a little gentler. I'm going to have a sore waist by the time we get there."

"Sorry, Frederick." Robin mumbled, and thought about how his body was absolutely going to give out on this journey. In the end, there was no point to staying up last night at all.

It was then that a miracle came. Quickly and quietly like the pitter-patter of...raindrops.

"Drat," Frederick complained, "it's not April yet - I wasn't expecting the rain to come."

Robin was worried about how drowned they'd be when they got to the house, but he was mostly grateful for the cold shower. He looked up at the sky, letting the droplets fall onto his face; into his eyes, and wake him up. "You'll have to get moving then!" Robin teased, and Frederick did move faster at that; pushing them from a gentler pace into a steady run.

 

*

 

The rain had gone and come back in the time they had been riding, and as Frederick brought his horse to a stop, they were soaked with rainwater. Robin wondered about how the clothes in his sack were faring, and - oh! His book!

At that moment, Frederick pulled himself from the horse, holding his hands out to Robin to help him off - the horse was incredibly tall, and Robin had a lot of trouble getting onto it in the first place.

The streets here were clearly not well-tended to, but the area had lots of charm. The buildings looked recently built; the stone walls still a bright grey, and intact, but moss had crept into the edges of the road and the houses; plants a little sallow even after the rain. Early evening had set in and people were heading into their homes, but a few had come to nosily stare at two drowned men in expensive clothing with a royal horse. Frederick took no notice of them; leading the horse round the back of the house to a surprising expanse of field; where a chicken hut and a huge shed farther out that looked like it might house a couple of cows.

"I thought you said you lived in a slum area," Robin accused.

"I also said it was rebuilt." Frederick replied. "With my salary, I wanted to get my mother something better, but she insisted on staying around the people she grew up with - so I found her some land in the area instead." He tied the horse up under a shelter near the back of the house. "Let's head inside, shall we?"

The back door was left unlocked, and the smell of the house as they entered was something Robin couldn't quite place - a little floral; but also something home-made and tasty.  
The kitchen was adorable; a small room with a low ceiling covered head to toe in stone with a beautifully kept stove in one corner. There were plants just about everywhere, as well as patterned cloths, which almost matched the drapes still wide open above the sink. 

"Mother?" Frederick called into the house. "I wonder where she could have gotten to."

"Freddy-bear? Is that you? I wasn't expecting you for another two days!" A voice called from nearby; perhaps the living room. Frederick grimaced as she continued talking. "I don't have any food at home and-Naga look at you, you're dripping in my kitchen!" A tiny lady with greying brown hair came plodding over, placing her plump hands on Frederick's face. He looked grumpy on the outside, but the warmth in his eyes was hard to miss.

"Hello, Mother. How are you doing?"

"Now who is this handsome young gentleman?" She ignored Frederick's question to immediately go to Robin and place her hand on his face in a similar fashion.

"This is Robin; he's a comrade of mine. One of the Shepherds."

"Oh my! A real knight in my kitchen! It's so nice to meet you. You must be starving; I'll cook something up right away."

"Mother, Robin is a tactician. Besides, I am a knight, and I appear in your kitchen with some regularity."

"Don't kill my excitement!" Frederick's mother's accent was adorable, and she smiled up at Robin with fondness. "You two should get dried up; immediately. Frederick, take your handsome friend to your room and get him something warm to wear. And, for goodness' sake, light a fire in this house; it's freezing." The lady quickly set to work, opening a pantry filled with all kinds of interesting ingredients - nothing fancy like the castle's food, but it still looked fresh and tasty. Robin didn't realise how long he watched the lady with Frederick's eyes until he was being ushered through an archway by a hand on his back.  
Robin hardly got to see the rest of the house as he was being hurried upstairs, but from what he could tell it was similarly decorated, with a huge fireplace in the living room and cosy furniture, and the adorable low ceilings which made the house look like a fairy-tale. 

"Your mother is so nice, Freddy-bear!" Robin kept his voice low, but a bubble of laughter burst from his throat.

"Call me that again and I will send you home, in the rain, barefoot." He was pushed into a room that must have been Frederick's when he came to stay.  
It was somewhat larger than the other rooms; possibly assigned to Frederick for that reason. The walls were painted a pale blue and the furniture was dark brown; a huge bed taking up the majority of the area. Frederick immediately went to the closet and dug around with purpose until he found what he was looking for. "Change into this," he grunted, dumping a pile of fabric into Robin's waiting arms, and going back to the closet to look for something for himself. 

"...Where's the bathroom?"

"Downstairs. You might want to wait to use it; my mother will pounce on you."

Robin had wanted to use the bathroom for changing purposes, but he supposed that this room would have to do. The space between the bed and the closet was so small that Robin could almost touch Frederick without having to go over to him.

"Uh. Where should I put my wet clothes?"

Frederick turned around with an outfit hanging on his arm, and began to loosen his necktie. "Good question...Just pop them on the bed for now and I'll hang them to dry when I light the fire."

"All right," Robin replied awkwardly, flinging his coat onto the bed. Frederick winced at the way it lay crumpled, and stood for a moment, tie in hand, before he couldn't stand it anymore - he went to lay it flat; possibly so it wouldn't dry creased.

Robin grinned as he untied his belt, pulling his under-jacket and shirt over his head to fling that across Frederick's shoulder in ball.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

"Doing what on purpose?"  
Frederick turned sharply, a quirk to his brow and set to his lip like he was about to say something rude, but he stopped short. He stared at Robin's chest silently, with an intense look on his face.  
"Oh, the scar?" Robin asked, embarrassed, pressing his hand to the large red-brown gash that went diagonally across his chest. "This is one of my big mysteries. I woke up with it, so, I don't really know how I got it." He didn't often get changed in front of people, mostly just preferring his own privacy, but also because he didn't know how to answer questions about his own body. His skin was soft and silky where his fingers grazed the old wound. Robin could only assume the skin had been wide open at some point, and it had healed over that way. 

Frederick was still silent for a short time after that, only exacerbating Robin's nerves. "That is unusual. Perhaps you had been in an accident; it looks rather serious." With that, Frederick unbuttoned his own shirt, and suddenly Robin remembered he needed to dress himself.

"You're still suspicious of me, right?" Robin couldn't hide the worry in his voice. Frederick didn't answer, and that only made Robin feel worse about asking. "It's fine that you are, I don't even know why I asked that, and I still don't know anything about-"

"I'm not." Frederick interrupted.

"You're not what?"

"I'm not suspicious of you. Not anymore. How can I be? You had every chance to make killing me look like an accident at Ferox and you didn't."

Robin felt too hot in the baggy cotton shirt he was wearing. "Why in Naga's name would I do that?" He mumbled, mostly to himself, but Frederick responded.

"You wouldn't. Because you're a Shepherd, with no ulterior motives."

"...Frederick, can I tell you something?"

"What is it?"

"I don't think I got that scar by accident." Frederick waited for Robin to continue, his face impassive. "I'm just guessing-it's not like I have _evidence_ or anything like that, but when I look at it, I feel like someone was trying to hurt me when they did it."

"Robin, do you want to know about the memories you've forgotten?"

"Yes, of course I do." Robin replied uncertainly.

"Then, that scar is the biggest clue you have." Robin met Frederick's eyes. "Someone in your past life was powerful enough and bore enough ill will to you to hurt you like that." 

"Well, that's not a very nice clue."

"It's the best one you have, as far as I'm aware, and beggars cannot be choosers."

"They can be pissed off about it, though. Why couldn't it have been a cool magic book my family left with me, or an ancient map that led to treasure?"

"You read too much fiction."

"No; you're just boring."

 

*

 

The downstairs had begun to smell distinctly like garlic and rosemary, the mouth-watering scent travelling through to the living room from the kitchen. Frederick knelt at the fireplace, transferring some small logs from a pile next to the mantle to sit inside, behind the guard, and lit a few matches, the fire starting small and licking slowly up the logs as it grew. He went to pull out a metal airer from beside a little bookshelf, taking their wet clothes from Robin's hands and transferring them onto the racks so they would dry neatly.

Frederick's mother peeked from one of the sides of the archway. "Thank you, Freddy-bear. Don't forget to put your horse in the shed; it's gotta be cold out there."

His eyes snapped to attention. "Ah, the horse!" And with that, he ran out the door, his feet bare; leaving Robin and Frederick's mother alone.

"Robin, do you know how to chop onions?"

Robin did not know. "I...sure."

"Great! Wash your hands and then come grab this knife."  
His hands clean, he took his place next to her at a counter, taking an onion in his hand and trying to figure out the best way to start it that wouldn't make him look like a big liar.  
"Frederick's never brought a co-worker home; you must be special," She noted conversationally, chopping a group of button mushrooms in one go with practiced speed. 

"Oh, he was just being nice to me I think. There's not a lot going on at the castle right now, and I don't have any family to see." Robin finished awkwardly, opting to cut the onion in half instead of staring at it like an idiot.

"Skin on? That's a funny way to chop onions." Well, he showed himself up surprisingly quickly. "No family at all? I can tell by your kitchen skills." She spoke with about as much tact as her son, but Robin found it refreshing, instead of offensive.

"I don't know who my family are." He replied, and felt bad for his situation. If he was normal, then they would be talking about nice things - but his life was actually rather depressing.

"You're an orphan?"

He paused. "No. Well, I don't know. I've lost my memories."

She looked like she didn't know what to say to that, so Robin began peeling his halved onion.

"Surely the Shepherds must be able to tell you some things."

"Well, actually, I joined them after I lost my memories. They found me in a field in the middle of nowhere!" He tried to perform the words in a way that sounded funny. The Shepherds usually laughed at the story, but she didn't, and it just made Robin feel worse.

"Frederick said you were a tactician. Are you any good?"

Robin made a face at that. He almost felt like he was being interviewed, and he chopped the onion into quarters, and then eighths, before he answered. "I hope so." The smell of the onion was beginning to make his eyes sting.

"Well, that doesn't tell me anything! How's your body count?"

He nearly chopped his hand at that. "E-excuse me?"

"How many people have died under your command?"

"None-" he began to say, and then he thought of Emmeryn. "One."

"One death," She pondered, adding her mushrooms to a big pot on the hob that seemed like it was the source of the garlic smell. "I'd say that makes you pretty damn good."

Robin made the onions into tiny cubes, thinking about how much that one death had cost. "Maybe."

"Seriously, you work for the Exalt! Unless you started your job yesterday, I understand why they hired an amnesiac."

"Thank you. Do you work?"

"Not anymore," She gestured to her greying hair, and bent down next to a sack to grab some potatoes. "I used to bake for a living, and Freddy would help out here and there when he was growing up, but I couldn't take the pressure of the work after he went off to join the knights. I'm happy, though; it was never my dream, and he supports me well enough on his salary."

"Telling stories, are we?" A gust of cold air hit Robin unpleasantly as Frederick entered, only a little soggy from the rain which had appeared to have slowed. "And what a surprise to see Robin helping out with dinner! He never sets foot in the castle kitchens unless he's looking for a midnight snack." If Robin hadn't been outed as a liar earlier, then he definitely was now - but Frederick's mother did not look surprised.

"When you're done teasing, you can wash your hands and start beating some eggs," She replied easily, taking the onion pieces from in front of Robin and dumping them unceremoniously into the pot. They made a pleasant sizzling noise.

"Actually-I was hoping to show Robin something. Would that be all right, or do you need the help?"

She turned her head towards him with a knowing smile. "You know I don't need the help," she answered, loosely gesturing to the archway before she turned back to her ingredients. "Thank you for the company, Robin." They headed towards the door. "Oh, and Frederick?"

"Yes, mother?"

"I approve." Frederick said nothing, and once again pushed Robin over the threshold.

 

*

 

"So, are we headed to your secret basement?"

"My what?"

"You know; where you keep all of your treasures, or your secret stash of weapons, or, your...wine collection?" He questioned, having run out of ideas very quickly.

"We're going upstairs."

"You keep your wine upstairs?"

"I don't drink wine. We are going to the study." The house didn't seem big enough for a study, but Robin followed obediently.

"Frederick, why do you talk so differently from your mother?" The question had been playing on his mind; her speech was not as eloquent; muffled consonants and strained vowels gave her otherwise unplaceable accent a rural colour.

"Oh," Frederick said awkwardly, as if he hadn't ever considered it. "It happened on its own, I suppose."

"Are you lying to me?" He was silent. "Sorry. It was rude of me to ask. Tell me about the study."

"No, it's okay. It was just easier to adopt city speech patterns when I began training as a knight. Nobody at the academy understood the way I spoke, and the tutors there were endlessly strict about formal speech, so I ended up picking it up."

Robin's face twisted sourly as he climbed the stairs. "That's stupid. They should just learn to understand you."

"Maybe." Frederick pursed his lips like he had some deeper thoughts going on in his mind. "This is the study," He said, pushing the door open to reveal the room.

It was almost as big as Frederick's room in size, and bookshelves stood at the east and west walls filled with all kinds of colourful tomes. The walls were painted the same blue as in Frederick's room, and the furniture was of a similar colour. Looking closer, the books on the east side were arranged into non-fiction - knight's codes, Ylissean history books and textbooks. On the west were fiction books; lots of children's novels and thicker books with strange titles that made the genres indiscernible.

"Wow, Frederick, how many of these have you read?" It wasn't nearly as big as the library in the castle, but Robin’s interest had been piqued – he wasn't expecting anything like this in Frederick's home.

"All of them," He replied. "I thought you'd be interested in taking a look at them. My mother never comes in here except to clean the place, so you can even take a couple back with you, if you'd like."

Robin turned to him with wonder. "This is how you got into the knights' academy without being rich!"

Frederick huffed a laugh as he went to stand by the window. "That must be a new record, even for you."

"Frederick, this is amazing!" Robin spun on his toes, his eyes alight with wonder. "You're amazing." He stopped. "Wait. You said you joined the knights to help your mother with money."

"I did," Frederick agreed, his arms crossed against his chest as he leant at the wall next to the window.

"What was your dream before then?"

"Dream? In terms of a career...? I didn't really have one, I suppose."

"How could you not? Your collection of books is huge - you can't read this much without being interested in any of it."

"Robin, I just wanted to learn. I would sit holed up in my old bedroom all day reading. I read anything I could get my hands on, I suppose. The books I used to own were burned to ash, and these are all either copies I managed to get my hands on, or books I decided not to keep in my room at the castle."  
Robin felt a tidal wave of emotion bowl him over. He had expected his feelings to get worse on this trip, but not so unbearable as the dangerous words which sat at the tip of his tongue and threatened to spill with each passing second. He couldn't think of anything else but the passion he felt as he looked at Frederick and wondered if he'd ever be able to talk about anything else ever again. How many ways could he express romance? How many sentences could he plunder from the depths of his emotion until no pattern of loving speech had been left unsaid? Robin wanted Frederick to know everything, irrationally; he wanted to see how he would react. He wanted the weight of the confession to be lifted from his shoulders. He wanted so desperately.  
"You should have a look at the history books. They're a little more basic than the ones at Ylisstol Castle, and if you still want to learn about politics from the ground up, they'd be of use to you."  
Robin only nodded, making his way to the eastern shelf, and trying very hard to focus on the titles.  
Frederick must have interpreted his lack of attention span as not knowing where to start, because he came up behind Robin, reaching over his shoulder to take a book out from beside his head.  
"This one was the first I read on Ylissean history. It was difficult for me at the time, but I think that you're smart enough to get it." Still standing at Robin's back, Frederick waved it in front of his face. The tome was a little thick with a black cover that felt bumpy when Robin fluttered his fingertips against it. He took it from Frederick's hands and felt the familiar smell of parchment soothe the nerves in his gut. 

He was unable to turn back to Frederick, so he muttered a quiet "thank you," into the book.

"...I'll leave you to read for a while, and call you when dinner is ready, all right? Enjoy yourself."

And with that, Robin was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I've been writing this fic during my exams and I just finished my 7th of 8 exams this afternoon, so hopefully I'll be dishing the chapters out a little speedier than I have been so far.  
> FYI, there is definitely more political drama coming - I wanted to give everyone a little break from the tension in the end of this chapter and the beginning of the next to flesh out the romance. I feel a little like this chapter is filled with too much dialogue, but hopefully it makes up for that with the indulgent FredRobin moments. What do you guys think of Frederick's mum? I like writing characters who are about as socially aware as I am (not very).
> 
> Thank you so much to those of you who left kudos and comments!! It really helped inspire me to write when I felt like I couldn't. You are all so sweet and supportive and I really appreciate that.  
> See you next chapter!


	5. fairytales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frederick and Robin go on a date. Robin raises the dead.

This house was not particularly familiar to Frederick; having started training as a knight while it was still being built, but the smell and the atmosphere still held echoes of times past.  
His childhood home would only have been a short walk from here. It had been decaying; not too old, but poorly built. He remembered setting a ball on one end of the room and watching it roll all the way down to the other end, due to the uneven foundations. Its crumbling walls and the spots of damp on the skirting and ceiling were odd features to reminisce about - but the mind had a way of romanticising the past, no matter how unattractive it actually was. 

He wondered, if not for the fire, would his mother still live in that house?

He thought of Robin. By some freak accident, he was crossing the border of home versus work - existing obstructively in the haven Frederick's mother had given to him. Their old house did not contain a study - only necessary rooms; which didn't include a living area.  
His little side project - filling the room, that is - had only succeeded as far as the books on his shelves, and held very little else of interest. His bedroom and his study were now so atmospherically different to what his bedroom had been before. Filled with life - memories; gifts from both parents.  
Everything they owned had been lost, save the clothes on their backs. Frederick had spent years of his life recovering second copies of the books he had treasured in between serving as a knight. But, books could be replaced. 

His mother's tuneful humming and her secret recipes were not something that could be found again in any land at any time. The look of fondness on her face as she watched him duck to go through the archway and recalled his teenage growth spurt.  
He watched her cut leaves out of pastry, and he knew exactly what ingredients she had used. Everything about her was familiar and memorable. 

"Mother?"

"Frederick?" She repeated in the same tone, placing the leaves delicately atop her pie.

"I brought you something from my travels."

She turned towards him with a smile. No matter how many years went by, and how many gifts he gave her, she was always surprised at the prospect of a gift. "Where did you go?"

He wondered if he should answer that question, and decided it was too late to have doubts.  
"I went to Ferox, Mother."  
Her face changed just slightly - there was a hint of glassiness in her eyes; barely noticeable, but still there.  
"It was market day when we were at the border pass, and Robin helped me pick something out for you." He slipped the compass from his pocket as he padded towards her, and set it in her waiting hands. 

She looked at it for a while. She seemed to be deeply assessing the pattern on the outside - or she was scared to open it. He clasped his hands over hers after a while, and clicked it open with his thumbs.

"...It's wonderful, Frederick. Thank you." She blinked at the inside, pressing her fingers to the glass, before closing it and setting it on the table somewhat hastily.

"I'm glad that you like it." He had said, but he wondered if she did.  
She was quiet at that, but he didn't much mind, because he had something else he wanted to talk to her about.  
"...When you said-you approve," He broached awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. 

She flicked a look back at him, her stare less anxiety-inducing as life returned to her features. "I did say that." 

Frederick moved from his close proximity to his mother, and went to balance his weight against the table. "When you said that...You meant...When you said..." He was struggling to get the words out, and gave her a helpless look. 

His mother's attention was back on her cooking. "I meant it - maybe you've never brought anyone home before, but I like him."

He tried to laugh, but the sound came out all wrong and dry like a breath of flour. "Mother, he's not my - I mean, he and I aren't, you know."

She turned back, full-body; to look at him, and she crossed her arms - unimpressed. "Do you think I'm stupid? You can't even say the words."

"Really. It's not." He repeated it until he believed himself. "I only brought him here because-"

"Because he has no family of his own." She finished.

"Yes! Because of that."

"Since when have you been so involved in your co-workers' personal lives?"  
Frederick had no answer to that. His heart had gone out to Robin's struggle, for whatever reason. There was no good excuse for why he couldn't be at the castle right now. There was no justification for letting Robin in the way Frederick had done - physically or metaphorically. He had justified everything he did for Robin so far with empathy, but how could he explain the existence of that empathy? How could he describe the sincere desire, to see Robin smile, and to solve the problems Robin couldn't solve by himself?  
The patience and care he felt could stretch miles along the ocean. Its weight was light enough to travel the skies and its depth was such that it filled the seabed of his gut. He had been addicted to the airy sense of self-satisfaction from Robin's first "thank you", and it had only gotten stronger with weeks past. 

"I don't see him like that."

"You don't, or you refuse to?"

"I _can't_ , Mother."

"Because he's an amnesiac?"

"Yes, because he's an amnesiac. Yes, for all reasons. He could have promised himself to someone else - he could be a traitor; a thief or a spy, or both - he could be-"

She interrupted him as he was about to spiral. "Just say what you're thinking."

"He could not feel the same way about me."

"And there it is," She replied simply.

"No it is not! It is not just that," He argued hotly. "The thing is, we just found him. We _found_ him, Ma! In a field! And he's so good at tactics, and there's so much about him which is so suspicious and I want to distrust him because nobody else will."

"I know," She replied easily. Her calmness was almost physical; Frederick latched onto it - his mother watched the chaos of the world go by and never moved; while he was caught up in a tornado she would watch from the window and tell him to stop being dramatic about it.  
She raised the lid of a pot on the hob, and tutted. 

"What?"

"My gravy isn't thick enough. Hand me the flour, would you?"

"Are you even listening?"

"If you want my advice you'll get that flour right now."  
Frederick went to the pantry, and handed her what she needed.  
"You trust him, Freddy, and you're just going to have to get used to that," She reasoned, stirring the pot. "It doesn't matter if you turn out to be wrong, or if you made the worst mistake in the world. That's what life is about. You trust him, so come to peace with that." She was right; of course she was right. He couldn't do anything about the way he felt, so there was no point in stressing over it - but his stress defied logic. "Besides, you were born in a field, so on your standards you're just as untrustworthy. 

"I really wish you would stop bringing up that story."

She put a wooden spoon to her lips, tasting her food, and popped the lid back. "What is the worst that can happen if you trust him?"

"He kills me, and then Chrom." Frederick replied quickly - he'd made the same defence multiple times; in his own head, to Chrom and Lissa, and, actually, to Robin.

"You'd bring a murderer into your mother's house?" Frederick went quiet. He hadn't even thought about that.

"...I'm sorry."

"The only thing you have to be sorry for is being obtuse. You didn't bring in a murderer, because he's not gonna kill either of us, and you trust him with that. Listen to me: you're only putting these barriers up to try to convince yourself of something. If you distrust him, you don't have to admit there are deeper emotions inside you that need to be dealt with."

He considered this with great discomfort. Why had he come to his mother in the first place? He knew she was just going to be right and mean about it.  
"I don't know if I'm ready to do that yet." 

"Take your time. Just relax - feelings aren't meant to be taken apart with logic. The best way to deal with your heart is to behave naturally."

Frederick tried to remember distinctly what natural was. He wondered if he had felt natural since he was seventeen - perhaps it went younger than that. It defied sense that nature would be more complicated than anything else he'd been through.  
"Please, tell me what I have to do to rid myself of the anxiety."

 

*

 

The stairs in this house were made of stone; they did not creak like the old wooden ones Frederick had made a hole in by falling through them at sixteen.  
As a young boy, he was slight; shorter than average and with no beginnings of muscle definition to be seen. His mother did all of the heavy lifting; try as he might he never seemed to be able to build his strength. That all changed when he turned fourteen - all of a sudden, everything was too small for him: his clothes, doorways; staircases. It came with an overwhelming sense of relief - a new way to protect what was dear to him; more tangible than any knowledge he could get from a book.  
It had still not been enough to save his home, but that was over. 

"Robin?" Frederick rapped at the door with his knuckles. "Dinner is ready." There was no response, so he made his way inside.  
Robin had fallen asleep, sitting reclined against the back wall with his legs crossed and his head bent down into the pages of a large tome. The book Frederick had suggested was open beside Robin's feet - the book in his hands looked to be from the fiction section. When Frederick came closer, he realised that it was one of the fairytales from Frederick's childhood.  
He squatted, running his hand through Robin's hair affectionately. "You should get up; it's not healthy to sleep like that." 

Robin finally stirred, the front of his hair oddly positioned from being flat against a book for goodness knows how long. He squinted, and rubbed his eyes with the back of his arm. Frederick's heart beat faster in his chest. "How long was I out?"

"I have no idea. I've only been away a couple of hours, though."

"All right," Robin said, closing the book in his lap and setting it aside carefully. "Will you help me up?"

"Most certainly," Frederick responded, rising a little before he offered Robin his hand.  
Robin's hand was icy to the touch, and his body was unnervingly light as he leaned all of his weight into Frederick's support. "You really do need to have a hot meal." 

Robin's head perked up at that. "Dinner is ready? I can smell it now!" He was instantly awake and excitable.

"Yes. Once you eat something you can go back to sleep - I know that you haven't had enough rest lately."

"Maybe." Robin let go of Frederick's hand, and rolled his shoulders. "I kind of feel wide awake now."

"See how you feel after the meal."

 

*

 

While Frederick was upstairs, his mother had set the table; three napkins on plates in a triangle formation accompanied chairs with a single daisy in a vase at the centre. Around the plates, an array of side dishes sat in steaming bowls - home favourites of cauliflower cheese, roasted potatoes, parsnips and carrots. Some wooden cups were stacked next to a jug of ale. At the castle, ale was a chosen drink; but it was not much of an option for those from poorer areas where the water was unclean and often gave you diseases.

"I'm sorry; I've yet to get the water I brought home the other day purified. I hope ale is okay." Frederick's mother said as they entered; a big tray with a chicken on it in her gloved hands.

"Do you have the water nearby? I could purify it for you, if you'd like." Robin wiggled his fingers.

"I didn't know you knew spells like that," Frederick commented.

"You can do magic?" His mother asked incredulously. "Well, aren't you just full of surprises!" She set the tray down at the end of the table where there was space. "Let me just go and get it." And then she was gone; off to the back room, probably.

"When did you find out you could purify water? I thought it was a skill natural to healers." Frederick asked conversationally, and went over to start cutting up the chicken - he was feeling ravenous, and whilst he wished to remain polite, he wanted to eat sooner rather than later.

"It wasn't easy. My natural ability is in destructive spells," Robin began, but stuttered over the last bit, furrowing his brows, "but I can attempt minor clerical feats as well. I think I must have been out with Libra one day, and he showed me how he did it, and it just sort of happened."

"Interesting," Frederick replied. "You have a range of talents, Robin; it's quite impressive."

"Thank you! I could never be big and strong like you, though." He accentuated his words with a gruff gesture that was more insulting than it was complimentary.

"You're small; there's nothing wrong with that. In fact, I think it's a little endearing."

"Here it is!" The appropriately-timed voice was marked with a huge clang of steel; Frederick looked round to see a huge milk churn sat proudly at his mother's feet. She pulled off the lid to reveal a muddy-coloured liquid. "Do I need to do anything with it? Can you purify it in here or just in small quantities?"

Robin's eyes bugged out a little. "I've never tried such a large amount, but I'll give it a go. You can just leave it there." He waddled up to the container with anxious poise, and slapped both of his hands onto either side inelegantly. Frederick let go of his knife and carving fork to watch, fascinated, as the space around the churn turned blue. Robin stayed there for about a minute, and then released his hands. "...I don't know if I did it..."

"There's only one way to find out!" Frederick's mother stated cheerfully, lifting the barrel and pouring some water into a smaller, translucent jug. "Well, it looks cleaner," She noted. She brought the jug over to the table.

"Could I try it first?" Robin asked. "I just don't wanna accidentally kill you guys, or something."

"You don't have to be so polite," His mother poured three drinks, and immediately went to take a sip.

"Mother!" Frederick exclaimed, reaching out for her in fear - she was not getting any younger, and her immune system had never been excellent.

"It's good!" Her grin turned Robin and Frederick's shock and anxiety into calm. She hadn't the knowledge of the damage magic could do - she had lived in the outskirts her entire life, where few mages could make a living. Usually that would make people more cautious - but not her.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Robin asked.

Frederick's mother seemed fine - his own body was hardy enough anyway; its reaction to food and drink past their best was never graceful but he was never too long on the toilet.  
"I shall try some, then." He raised his cup like a toast, and took a sip. It was a little metallic in flavour, but the water otherwise tasted just fine. "It's good. Well done, Robin." Robin looked at him helplessly.

 

*

 

After dinner, they both headed back upstairs - stuffed and exhausted; there was still plenty of food left for tomorrow, and Frederick thought of it with longing.

"So...where am I sleeping?" Robin asked hesitantly.

Frederick had, in fact, thought that far, but his plan wasn't the best idea he'd ever had - in fact, it was rather unpleasant at the thought. "My bed. I shall be taking the study."

Robin looked at him, horrified. "Frederick, that room has no furniture in it! And it's cold!"

"It will be all right," Frederick decided, "I have slept on icy rock with no blankets; this is luxury in comparison."

"Yeah, when you had no other option!" Robin huffed. "...Share with me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's just like sharing a tent, right? We'll probably have to sleep together at some point, and I can't sleep in your bed knowing that you're on the floor in a mound of sheets."

Frederick was by no means a private person. Physical contact was never something he'd had much of an issue with - as Robin had argued, being a travelling knight meant that on many occasions he would practically be sleeping on top of his comrades due to lack of space. But it was different - because of the feelings he now could not ignore.  "I don't know."

"Then you sleep in your bed, and I'll sleep in the study."

He was appalled. "Absolutely not."

"It's either that, or you sleep next to me."

 _Don't do it!_ His brain cried. "All right," His mouth said.

 

*

 

Frederick thought that once the lights were off, it would be easier to forget that he was not alone. The bed was big enough to house Frederick's large frame with some extra room, but even if Robin did not rest in an exaggerated 'Z' shape (his knees knocking against Frederick's thighs), he would feel Robin's heat; hear the sound of his soft breathing and smell the soap he used in his hair. Frederick's heart beat dramatically in his chest and he felt impossibly young and idiotic thinking of all the excuses he could muster to shift a little closer.

"Frederick," A voice whispered into the darkness, full of unease, and Frederick's breath held with all the possibilities of what could be going through Robin's mind right at that moment.

"Yes," He answered.

"Do you really think that water was okay? Are you feeling unwell at all?"

Frederick's heartbeat slowed to a normal pace, and he laughed a little. "Were you expecting it to be a disaster?"

"It's just I didn't realise she would bring out that much! I kinda freaked out, you know, and I don't think I was concentrating 'cause I barely remember doing the spell at _all_." He babbled, consonants slurring as he released all of his thoughts in one go.

"Robin."

"Yes?"

"Lower your volume."

"...Sorry," Robin whispered.

"The water was fine. As you said, it is not a complicated spell, and you are thinking far too hard about it."

"Okay. Yes." He did not sound convinced.

"It's going to be okay."

Robin sighed deeply. "Yeah. Thank you, Frederick."  
There was silence for a moment.  
"What are we doing tomorrow?" 

"I'm taking you somewhere."

"Ooh, somewhere!" Robin repeated. "Am I not allowed to know?"

"I was hoping it would be a surprise."

"But I'm curious now!"

"Well, I could go by myself and leave you in the house all day..." Frederick teased. In truth, it was not that much of a secret; he was just not entirely sure how he was going to go about the day's activities.

"...All right, I'll wait."

"Good. You'd best get some sleep, then."

 

*

 

Frederick awoke before the sun rose; the first thought on his mind Robin's name.  
Robin was curled up peacefully in the gap Frederick had left on the bed - one hand in a loose fist next to his chin, the other holding fast to the head of the blanket. He didn't stir when Frederick shifted his huge body over Robin's frame to get up, which was surprising, considering how clumsy it was.  
He remembered Robin's considerable lack of sleep over the past two days, and decided to let him wake up naturally. Everything he had planned could wait.  
The next town over was not too far; his parents had taken him there often for days out when he was extremely young, and he had been awaiting an excuse to go back. It was a little more rustic than his hometown. The buildings were, of course, older, but the economy was better, and the shops were nicer. There were a number of places he wanted to visit - he hoped that Robin would like it just as much as he did, even without the nostalgia. 

The house still smelled like chicken, and his stomach rumbled with anticipation of leftovers as he heated the water for his morning bath. It was pleasant to be alone with his thoughts. He dragged the washcloth over his skin, feeling the effects of the journey from yesterday rinse off his body.

 

*

 

The animals were all, of course, awake - it was not too early to feed them, Frederick decided, and also to give his horse some TLC. He was going to leave it behind today - it would have made the journey speedier, but he had no idea where he would leave the thing nor how long they would be out for.  
As he planned his route over breakfast, his mother joined him.  
"Oh, you're up already - of course you are. Did you feed the animals?" 

"I did."

"Thank you, baby." She said, kissing him on the head. The action sent warmth blooming in his chest. He visited his mother as often as his free time allowed; usually every other month, but his connection to her never waned. He watched her re-heat her own food.

"I'm taking Robin to Whitemerrow Town this afternoon."

There it was again; that almost invisible stutter in her movements, just like last night with the compass. "That's nice, dear."

Frederick tried again. "...Do you miss her?"

"I don't want to talk about this." She said flatly.

Every single time he tried to talk about it. Everything he wished to recall was denied to him by the only person who could give him answers. "Please, Ma."

"You know that I can't." She said wobbily, her hands held tightly to the edge of the counter, and her head drooped low, making her even harder to see.

"You preach about," Frederick started, and he found he was the same as her - fragile to the core, and he couldn't stop his voice from shaking, "getting over your emotions, and being able to be honest with yourself - but you close up like this over and over."  
The atmosphere was frosty. His mother didn't respond and he had started to feel guilty as soon as the words left his mouth. He re-opened it to apologise. 

"Hey guys! Is it possible to be stuffed and hungry at the same time? I'm kind of feeling like that right now."

"Ah, Robin. You're up earlier than expected - help yourself to some breakfast." Frederick struggled to put any emotion into his words.

"Hello, dear." His mother was better. "I'm just heating something up; sit down and you can have this."

"Isn't that yours? No, I can't! Don't worry, I'll serve my own."

"Nonsense. The animals are all fed and accounted for, so I have more time this morning than I expected. Plus, I don't want you burning my kitchen down trying to reheat your potatoes."

Robin seemed satisfied with that, and he sat at the table next to Frederick, immediately stealing a head of broccoli from his plate. Frederick quirked an eyebrow, but only said "How did you sleep?" in response.

"So good," Robin recalled with obvious satisfaction. "I don't know how I'm gonna go back to the beds at the castle; your bed is so comfortable and the temperature of your room is amazing..."

Frederick laughed. "I think you were just overtired. Anything is comfortable if you haven't had a proper rest in days."

"Maybe," Robin conceded. "Are you going to tell me where you're taking me yet?" He batted his eyelashes hopefully at Frederick, who sighed.

"The next town over."

"What's in that town?"

"...Fields."

"Still being mysterious, I see." Robin muttered, stealing more food. "Fine, keep your secrets."

 

*

 

It was much sunnier by the time they left, but still cool. Robin's jacket was dry, thankfully - anything Frederick owned would be comically large for Robin to spend a whole day in.

"So, how far is it to the next town?"

"Just over a mile. It should only take us about twenty minutes to get there."

"Are you going to take me for a candle-lit meal?"

"Uh." Frederick couldn't think of a response. Suddenly the idea sounded very appealing, but he couldn't say that out loud.

"I'm kidding!" Robin smacked him on the arm. "You should have seen your face."

 

*

 

It was obvious when they entered the connected town. These buildings were varied in comparison; coloured brown and baby blue and white, with adorable red rooves. Frederick instinctually remembered where the streets connected. This was coming home in one true sense - to a version of himself unravaged by time.

"Frederick, this place is beautiful!"

He grinned widely. "Isn't it? I haven't been here in years."

"Why not?"

"...I just never had the time. I know we just had breakfast, but there used to be the most wonderful patisserie-bakery nearby, and I'm wondering if it's still there."

"It sounds wonderful; let's go."

 

*

 

The old building had stood the test of time; its walls undisturbed by the whims of nature. Flowers hung from planters at the base of the shop's windows, showcasing fresh bread and cakes.  
The bell atop the door jingled as they entered. There were a couple of customers sat at a table with tea and cake, and a familiar elderly gentleman at the desk.  
"Now, ye don't look like yer from around here." He greeted, waving them closer with his hands. 

"I hail from Aeredale Town - I used to come by often with my parents, but I haven't been here since I was a boy."

"Let me get a look at ye." Frederick stepped closer. "That face - yer couldn't be Lilith's boy, could ye?"

"That's right."

"By Naga's name! If yer didn't have a face just like 'ers I wouldn't have believed it! You were such a wee thing back then you couldn't have passed for a farmhand."

"Well I'm glad I'm memorable at least. How have you been?"

"Oh, these old bones never stop - 'side from the arthritis in me elbows." The old man laughed boisterously. "What do ye do now? Yer ever rebuild that old cave yer mum called a bakery?"

"Sadly not. I work for the Exalt now, in Ylisstol; I'm just down for a holiday." He put a hand on Robin's shoulder. "This is my co-worker. Since there's no bakery in Aeredale, I thought I'd come to you for the local delicacies."

"And 'ere I was thinking you'd found yourself a nice boy to settle down! No matter - I shan't keep yer for too long. What would ye like?"

Frederick blushed, and decided to change the subject. "Oh - before we choose. I used to get these little bags of oats; I don't know if you still do them..."

"Off to see the nature, are we?"

"That was the idea."

"Not a problem, let me go out the back for yers."

 

*

 

"Oats?" Robin asked incredulously as they left, biting into his pastry. "Are you on a diet?"

Frederick rolled his eyes. "They're for the ducks."

A chunk of danish fell out of Robin's mouth and rolled sadly on the ground. "Ducks?!"

"There's a pond just nearby here; I thought it might be nice to engage with the local nature. Unless...you don't like ducks?"

Robin appeared to be considering this for a moment. "I've never seen a duck in real life, I think."

"...Never seen a...Robin, you must have! Everyone's seen a duck - they're so common." Frederick thought for a moment. "Except...in Plegia."

"Are you accusing me of something?" Robin's tone was jesting on the surface, but Frederick still feel like he had said something unnecessary.

"There's nothing wrong with you being Plegian." He sighed. "To tell you the truth, we all...guessed as much. Your complexion and your clothing are dead giveaways." Robin only looked depressed at this revelation. "There is nothing about Plegia that makes you inherently guilty of something, Robin."

"I suppose...I just feel like if it had to be a good or a bad thing, it would probably be a bad thing...? Does that make sense?"

"It does."  
There was an awkward silence for a minute.  
"When I was a boy, Emmeryn became Exalt. Her father had not had good relations with Plegia or Ferox. That could be - a problem at times, growing up, because my other mother was Feroxi." 

Frederick felt Robin's gaze on his face, but he stared ahead at the path in front of them.  
"You're part Feroxi?" 

"I suppose it is not exactly the same. I was not born there, after all. And, I look and sound as plainly Ylissean as anybody." Frederick led Robin off the path, and into a cluster of trees.

"I guess it's not..." Frederick snuck a glance at Robin, who looked pensive. "If you're Feroxi, how comes you're so uncomfortable there, and why do you hate the food?"

He laughed - mostly in relief; he thought he had ruined the mood for the whole day. "My other mother - Selene - she died when I was a boy. From what I remember, though, she couldn't cook, and she was rather reserved."

"Do you miss her?" The sunlight through the leaves made patterns of gold on Robin's face. Frederick had used to assume that Robin was so blunt and open because of his amnesiac personality, but he was starting to think that Robin was just like that anyway.

"More than anything." He replied.

Robin looked at the ground. "I'm sorry."

"She used to take me here all the time." Frederick moved a huge branch with his arm, opening up to a large clearing with a pond at its centre.

The clearing was empty of life, save the two of them, and a sea of birds going about their business; their rounded bellies skimming across the water as they settled.  
Green light filtered in through the trees; casting gorgeous shapes in the ripples of the water. Breathing this air felt smoother; there was something energising about being right next to trees, whether it was placebo or not. Other than the sound of the water, the sole sound was birds singing from their nests.

Frederick felt pressure on his upper arm and realised Robin was clutching at him. "Okay, this is going to be _such_ a stupid question, but, do they bite?"

He laughed aloud at that, much to Robin's chagrin. "Just don't approach the geese." And with that, he began to stride forward, dragging Robin along with him.

"What is that supposed to mean?!"

 

*

 

"Aah - Frederick it's coming up to me! What do I do? If I chuck the bag will it go away?"

"Just scoop some oats out and scatter them in front of you."

"But I don't want it to come near me," Robin whined anxiously.

"For goodness' sake, Robin; it's just a duck."

The bird was cautiously approaching; keeping its eyes on Frederick and Robin as it edged closer and faked interest in the ground before falling to the temptation of free food.  
"Okay," Robin breathed. He did as Frederick said, taking a couple of slow steps backwards from his squatted position, and the duckling moved towards them a little faster. Frederick bent over, planting his hands firmly on Robin's shoulders so he couldn't run away and scare all the birds within a twenty-feet radius.  
The duck began to peck quickly at the oats. Trees rustled welcomingly behind them, sending a shiver down Frederick's spine as he watched Robin stare fixatedly at the bird.  
"It's kind of cute, actually," Robin decided. 

"I was thinking the same thing," Frederick agreed, watching strands of Robin's hair fly with the movements of the wind.

Robin put his hand back into the bag; the noise of it attracting the attention of the birds who were still feeding.  
When he had gathered a handful, he pulled back his fingers one by one. In that moment, a flash of red-brown whizzed into their vision.   
Sitting in Robin's hand, greedily snatching at the remains, was a thin-bodied, incredibly bold, squirrel.  
Robin was still as a statue. 

"Incredible," Frederick murmured.

The moment seemed to last a lifetime; Frederick's chin resting lightly on Robin's head; the two watching mesmerised as such a small creature trusted them enough to be this close. Its teeny tiny paws scrabbled at the inside of Robin's palms. Robin's shoulders didn't appear to be moving from beneath Frederick's hands - he had stopped breathing; too afraid to move at all lest the creature become spooked.  
It was over as quickly as it began. After eating its fill, the squirrel's head turned to the other side of the clearing, and it leapt out of Robin's hand, scampering off into the trees.  
Robin turned his head, grinning widely at Frederick. "Can you believe that just happened?" He may fall asleep with his head in a book, Frederick thought to himself, but he really was part of his own fairytale.

 

*

 

"Where to next?"

"You like to get souvenirs from your travels. I thought we'd go shopping."

It was late in the afternoon, and the streets were bustling with folk going about their business. A large fountain sat in the centre of the square they turned onto to locate the shopping district. Some children were running after each other around it, skidding and getting under the feet of adults holding heavy cargo and pushing carts.  
Unlike Ylisstol, there were no carriages, and very few horses, on the street - most people did not travel far enough to need anything of the sort. It was surprising how chaotic the streets could be even without such presences. 

"It's nice, isn't it?" Robin commented, matching Frederick's leisurely pace while keeping an eye on all of the busy people. "Not dangerous or grim like Ylisstol."

"Au contraire; this is rather a dangerous area to walk at night."

"Really?" He scoffed in disbelief.

"Oh yes. I'll have you know that exactly there-" Frederick pointed to a spot of uneven flagstone across the way- "is where I fell and scraped my knee at five years old because I couldn't see the paving in the dark."

"Oh, wow, that does sound dangerous." Robin played along. "You'll have to protect me this evening."

"I have every intention of doing so." Frederick promised.

 

*

 

They passed in and out of all sorts of places; a little tailor wherein Robin spent a lot of time being silly in different hats, a florist who mixed wildflowers with rare breeds grown mostly in other countries, a children's toy store with intricate wooden puppets and dolls.

"This place looks interesting." Robin gestured to an old, dark stationery shop which looked like the windows had been due a clean for some months now.

"Interesting is not the word I would use, but if you want to go in, I shall oblige."

Robin went in without a response, and Frederick followed into the dimly-lit entrance.  
On the inside, the shop was somewhat nicer; blank canvases, boxes of paint and bound notebooks were settled in a cluttered order and gave off a scent of fresh supplies which was hard to resist.  
Frederick had barely left the threshold and Robin was already looking at the notebooks; running his hands across them and then picking one up and holding it to his nose. 

"Smells good," Robin muttered, and Frederick raised an eyebrow, but he didn't comment. Instead, he went over to a stand holding paintbrushes, and skimmed his fingers along the tips to feel the silkiness of the hairs as they bent under pressure. There was something oddly intoxicating about stationery and art supplies. Frederick felt an inspiration that led nowhere - he wanted to purchase a canvas but had no clue what to put on it.  
"Wow! Look at this..." Robin said lowly, but it carried in the extreme quiet of the shop. Frederick followed the sound of his voice to find Robin near a gorgeous sewing machine with an iron pedal at its feet. On the table it was connected to lay bobbins and thread, with individual needles for hand-sewing.  
"I think...I know how to use one of these." Robin picked up the tail of his coat, and sure enough, in a midnight blue thread just visible against the purple of his coat, was a line of stitching too neat to be made by hand, seemingly used to close up a tear in the fabric. 

"Another thing..."

"What?"

"I'm just counting all the truths I've learned about you in these weeks past."

"How romantic," Robin commented, and he was right. Frederick's cheeks burned - had he really just said that?  
Still, Robin looked up at him, and the air was suddenly very warm and dry. Robin's mouth was open a tiny amount; Frederick wondered how his lips would feel underneath his fingertips, or worse...his mouth. The only distance between them was height; their bodies were so close - they had been for so many hours now. Frederick couldn't stand it. He felt himself inching closer. Robin's eyes fluttered closed. Was that - consent?  
Frederick was going to ask.

 

"You know what I need? A quill."  
Robin turned quickly away, and moved off to another section, leaving Frederick's immediate space. And like that, the moment was gone.  
Frederick wondered if Robin deliberately moved away from the would-be kiss. Robin had not acted strangely in the close presence of Frederick these past few days - but perhaps that had been comfort necessitated by a platonic affection. If so, Robin was uncomfortable right now. Frederick didn't know what to do. He couldn't leave Robin in the shop alone, but he didn't want to get too close, because he'd breached Robin's trust. 

Frederick's brain was short-circuiting - he suddenly felt like he had messed up too much to repair. No matter the heat in his chest, or his mother's certainty, the truth was that Robin would always be out of reach, romantically. And Frederick had no right to ask for more. Robin had given his whole self; the depth of his insecurities, and the extent of his hard work, to Frederick and his whims. That was the reason he had fallen for him in the first place.

"These are beautiful...Frederick, come and look at this."  
Robin stood by the back counter, bent over slightly. Frederick approached the table.  
The selection of quills, laying diagonally on a burgundy tablecloth, incredibly neatly placed - standing out from the rest of the products in the store.  
They were all intricately designed; sophisticated pictures carved meticulously into wood, metal, silver and gold. Robin's eyes skated over them wantonly.  
Near the quills, there was a little bell on the counter - Frederick tapped it a couple of times.  
"Frederick, wha-" 

A balding lady came out from a door to the side of the counter with slow movements. "Hello sirs. Pardon me for the wait, we don't too often get customers up here - 'specially on the weekdays. What can I do for yer?"  
"That's not a problem at all. I'd like to purchase this," Frederick gently picked up a quill with a velvety dark brown feather and a silver grip. The design on the grip as it was turned was a manakete; depicted mid-flight; its fiery breath spewing silver dents all the way to its tail. 

"Are ye sure? That one goes for two hundred and fifty gold pieces."

That was hefty for a quill, but took no strong impression into Frederick's savings. "That's fine."

 

*

 

"Please tell me you bought that for yourself." Robin said as he left the store in front of Frederick. He had refused to face Frederick since the purchase, and went to leave immediately afterwards.

"I thought you said you needed one." Frederick replied helplessly.

"It's so expensive!" Robin finally turned around, but he still wouldn't face Frederick; his arms were crossed and he pouted to his left as he pretended to think about something in the distance.

"It's not that expensive." Robin didn't respond. "Look, I'm sorry. I'll go in and take it back."

Robin looked conflicted. "No, no, it's fine, I'm…sorry for freaking out. Thank you for buying it for me. But, don't do that again."

"I don't know what to make of that." Frederick held out the pen to Robin anyway.

"Exactly what I said," Robin plucked it from Frederick's hand, and secured it into an interior pocket of his coat.

"...I understand if you're ready to go home, but there's one more place I wanted to show you, if you're willing." Frederick held out his hand to Robin. "There's no money involved, by the way."

"Where to?"

"Your favourite kind of place."

 

*

 

The sun was beginning to set, casting a hazy orange glow over gently waving grass. The wind was gentle and in fleeting bursts, making Frederick shiver every time it came around. The field was huge. You could barely see the end of it; a hilly slope with trees and houses just barely poked their heads over the horizon. Out of all the places in this town that he visited as a child, this one was the most special - the atmosphere of it was as buzzing and magical as it had been when he was a child; just not as endless in space and opportunity.

"This place is breathtaking!" Frederick had planned their activities to get here at sunset; although it was beautiful and warmer during the day, nothing could compare to the scenic view before nightfall.

"Now that we're here I...don't really know what to do. Would you like to walk? Sit?"

"Lay!" Robin exclaimed, promptly falling backwards into the grass and letting the length of it consume his body. Frederick fought the urge to laugh, and failed, settling next to Robin, seated with his arms circling his knees.

"I'm glad you like it here."

"It might be the best field."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

"...I was actually...born here."

"In this field?" Robin joked.

"Yes," Frederick confirmed, entirely serious.

Robin sat up immediately. "Freddy, you were born in a field? That's hilarious!"

"Thank you...?"

"Where in the field?? Oh man." Robin turned his head excitedly.

"I don't know; I don't remember." Frederick replied sarcastically.

"That's a shame." Robin lay his head back down. "Wow, this trip has been a true success."

"I think we are going to have to leave late tomorrow."

"So soon?" Robin questioned disappointedly.

"Unfortunately, we are the two men closest to the Exalt. We have duties to attend to; and a moody young man to deal with."

Robin laughed. "He really is moody; isn't he? He came to my quarters to apologise right after we had that argument."

"I know. He came to my room right after to collect your documents."

"...Really?"

"Robin, he values your work very highly. I dare say he might have made a judgement based on it by now."

"I suppose it is time to go back, huh."

"You can always...come back here with me again."

"I think I'd like that."

They were silent for a little while; watching stars appear in the sky against a gradient of light blue to rust. It was incredibly relaxing - like a moment outside of time, they enjoyed the company of each other in silence; lost to their thoughts.

"Are we friends?" Robin asked the air.

"I should hope so. We even had a sleepover."

"We did, didn't we?" Robin grinned. "I'm glad we're friends." More flowers bloomed in Frederick's heart.

"I'm glad too."

They spent the evening there, talking a lot about nothing. Orange turned quickly to black; the wind blowing harsher, almost cold as a Feroxi night - Frederick felt his mother's presence in the weather as they pressed on to leave.

 

*

 

Robin headed to bed almost immediately; exhausted from the day's adventure. Frederick found his mother in the living room, reading in her chair by the fire, which was dying. Seeing her read was an unusual sight these days.  
"Did you have a good day, Freddy-bear?" 

"It was lovely; thank you, Mother."

"What did you do?" She asked, settling the book down on her armrest.  
Frederick explained the day to her in surprising detail. She raised her eyebrows at the squirrel story, but her face didn't change too much at anything else. She didn't interrupt; letting Frederick draw into comfortable silence before she said anything.  
"You never used to call me Mother, you know. Always Ma. She was Mother."  
Perhaps it would seem impolite that she hadn't responded to Frederick's story, but he knew the truth - she was giving him something; a snippet of truth, after all these years. 

"Ever since she died you have filled both parental roles as well as you could have." Frederick said politely. There was nothing else for him to say.

"She was always - more emotional than me. When you scraped yourself, she would hold you as you cried, and I would put alcohol on it and make you cry even more." She laughed to herself, her hands linked together in a tight embrace, like she was doing her best to stay strong.

"You both did your best for me. You still are."

"Thank you, honey. I'm going to stay until the fire burns out. Are you going up now?"

He knew the signal for when she needed to be left alone. "Yes. Goodnight, Ma."

 

*

 

Robin tossed and turned in Frederick's bed. It was some ridiculous hour of the morning; Robin had awoken in a cold sweat, and couldn't stop thinking about the water downstairs. For some reason, he had to check it was okay.

Finally giving in to his anxiety, he tiptoed down the stairs and made his way into the back room.  
It was less furnished than the other rooms in the house; bits and bobs which couldn't find a place in the main home were scattered around the floor and on shelves. In the centre, a steel churn was toppled to one side; a spillage of unnatural liquid glowing faintly in the moonlight. 

There was a squeak.

Robin's head whipped round and went faint with horror.

Four rats sat perfectly to attention in front of him; unnaturally stiff. Their glowing red eyes regarded him with terrifying intelligence. Robin knew in that moment they were waiting for his instruction.  
He knew what he had to do. 

A teeny pocket-Elthunder was in his coat upstairs; he threw himself as fast as he could without waking Frederick, there and back, and killed the things quickly with great disgust.  
He created them with his water; he must have. He knew it intrinsically - the same way he knew the water was safe to drink for people, but his anxiety plagued him, and he re-positioned the churn, casting a much longer and more complicated purifying spell on the water.  
Robin realised he was hyperventilating, and sat down, hands on his knees, trying to slow his breathing. Eventually, he did. 

He had to tell Libra about this. His desire to get back to the castle had surged dramatically. He would leave right now if he could.

Was this normal? Could purifying spells go wrong like this? Robin felt like the spell might have very little to do with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! i'm so so sorry this chapter was up so much slower than the others have been. there are a number of reasons for this - immediately after my last exam i got a bunch of plans dropped on me and i've been playing video games to cope with the stress of socialising and also the content of this chapter is kind of different to what i've been doing before. i really wanted to get the romance right which is why i spent so long on it.  
> i'm also hugely self projecting in so many areas of this fic idk if you guys can spot it lol. making freddy part feroxi seems random but it will have plot relevance as long as i remember.  
> freddy has two mums????? how???? the power of magic and trans mums. which mum? that's for me to know and you to wonder.
> 
> it's so interesting what i end up looking up for the purpose of this fic!! notably i spent about an hour on a horse outfitting website just to find the right word for something in chapter four, and for this chapter i ended up on youtube watching videos of ducks eating peas...
> 
> anyhow. inspirations for this fic in no particular order include: dragon quest 9, west country accents, ducks eating peas, my best friend joey, fire emblem heroes bringing back summer freddy and also the adventure zone.  
> i've also been reading marx's first volume of capital and i spent a lot of time thinking about the value of gold and silver and how the development of gold as money is super weird when i was writing the quill scene....anyways 
> 
> thank you all so much for your comments!! i really do love each and every one of you and every time i think it's gonna be too hard to write this i think about the overwhelming support you've shown me and i feel inspired to keep going.


	6. lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a death, a life, a breath, a kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've never read my end notes before MAKE SURE you read this one!! it will explain everything ok

Robin woke up alone again. The sun was high in the sky; peering judgementally through the gap between the curtains - it was probably mid-afternoon by now. He sighed. The bed was definitely too comfortable, but his body felt distressed, and laying down felt wrong. He needed to get up and move. Preferably towards the castle, but pacing anywhere would do wonders for the anxiety which had refused to let up from the depths of his gut.

 

He hadn't been able to pack last night; afraid of waking Frederick up whilst he was too unnerved to lie about what happened. He had considered telling his friend about the water incident, but Frederick was no mage - he could offer no answers this time. The trust between them felt stronger than before, but Robin wasn't sure it was strong enough to take feeding his mother rat-raising water. Libra was the only one who could hope to shed any light on this. He could tell Frederick afterwards; when he knew what actually happened.

Probably.

 

Robin gathered his belongings. The book he had originally taken with him was paperback; bent out of shape by the rainfall on the way to the house, it had remained on the windowsill for the time he had spent out of town. It was dry now, albeit being significantly more wrinkled - Robin popped it right at the bottom of his sack to be covered with his clothes in case of any more rainfall.

Speaking of books...Frederick had said the other night that Robin could take a book or two home with him, if he liked. He was sure Frederick's offer still stood.  
The book Robin had fallen asleep reading had been a very predictable fairytale. Robin loved stories; especially predictable ones - being able to guess the ending was part of the fun.

 

*

 

The study was not as it had been left the past evening. Someone had cleaned it up; either Frederick or his mother - Robin was left with some small sense of guilt for that. Unfortunately, he tended to leave a trail of mess wherever he went; chaos followed him like a dust cloud at times.

He ran his hands against the spines of the tomes. He would not bring home the one he had already predicted the end of. What, then, would he choose?

Robin's hand dipped against a shorter, thick book; its red backing seemed to be made of some sort of animal-skin, and it was incredibly sturdy as a result. Robin was _usually_ careful with books, but he was clumsy also. There was a lot less chance that he would damage this tome.

 _TALES OF THE CREATION_ , read the title, in neat bold script. Robin pinched his fingertips against the top of the book to remove it from the shelf, wiggling it back and forth to create a gap between a shelf that was almost impossibly perfect in its assignment. The two adjacent books fell slack against one another in the gap Robin created; ruining the formation.

 

"Are you taking one back?" Frederick's voice made Robin jump out of his skin, flipping the book out of his hands and onto the floor with a nasty thud. Robin grimaced at the sight of it – embarrassed at his failure to keep someone else’s possessions safe. Sure, all of his own belongings were subject to worse treatment, but he felt a particular sense of dissatisfaction with his body’s unreliable faculties. No matter how precious the item, he always seemed to do something stupid with it.

 

"Gods, Frederick; when did you get so quiet?"

 

"My apologies.” Frederick held his fist to his chest in the same way that he pledged allegiance to Chrom. At first, Robin thought that Frederick was bowing, but his shiny mop of hair was visible for only a moment before Robin was presented with the book he had volleyed into the heavens. “Good morning; by the way."

 

"Good morning. And, yes I am taking one back – as long as you don’t mind my clumsy hands." Robin patted invisible dust from the cover, searching it for scrapes. It looked mostly undamaged, but he held fast to it, lest it slip from his fingers again.

 

"Of course. I made the offer in the first place. Which did you choose?" Frederick peered at the book before Robin could answer. "This one was a difficult tome to locate. The original copy I owned belonged to my late mother."

 

Robin held even less confidence in his abilities to protect the thing than before. "Are you sure it’s all right for me to take?" He asked doubtfully.

 

"Yes; I never found much value in it aside from the sentimentality. I had wondered if I should place it in the fiction or non-fiction section, but it was a bit too fantastical to me - she always talked to me about it as if it were real, though."  
Frederick's gaze was towards the book, but his eyes were glassy. He didn't show a hint of emotion when he talked about Selene; in contrast to Lilith, who made his gaze glint with affection.  
The way Frederick talked about his parents had Robin wondering about his own. Unlike the strange feeling he got when he looked at his scar, or smelled the unplaceable scent from inside his coat, he felt absolutely nothing when he tried to recall his parents. He wondered if, in that case, they had both died when he was a boy – since he recognised himself in Frederick’s lifeless words.

Frederick hardly smiled, Robin had realised. Robin used to think that Frederick was not emotional; that he was impassive, and ran on logic – like a machine. That, or, perhaps, Robin had not really thought about Frederick with a level of depth until recently. All of Frederick’s actions seemed to be infused with emotion now – an uncompromising maturity and loyalty that Robin craved to recognise like a starving man. Well, all, except for right now. For some reason, Robin hated to see Frederick look like his own reflection.

 

"What's the book about?" He changed the subject quickly, searching for a Frederick he recognised.

 

"You decided to take it without reading the blurb?" Frederick asked amusedly – there was a tinge of a quirk to his lips, and the pitch of his voice went higher, as he returned to the present as quickly as he’d been removed from it.  
"It's...supposed to be a recount of historical events – from the perspective of some trickster god named The Creation, as far as my memory serves. It errs far too much on the mythical for me to trust its content, but you might decide what you believe of it."

 

"Sounds like an interesting read," Robin replied curiously, turning to the introduction.

The pages were a lot more text-filled than he had expected them to be; the font small enough to make his eyes hurt, but he decided he'd give it a go anyway. The book's aura was magnetic – Robin wished they were taking a carriage home so he could start reading while he had the time to.

 

"Yes," Frederick replied noncommittally. "Are you going to come down to eat?"

 

Robin let the book go slack in his hand. "I was actually hoping to bathe, if that's all right."

 

"I'll get that water for you, then." Robin shivered at the thought, but decided the best use for the rest of that water was in cleaning the grime off his skin, rather than entering anybody's mouths - no matter how safe he thought it was now.

 

Entirely different than Ylisstol castle, and even Arena Ferox, which both held a bath house, the tiny cottage housed a modest washroom with a series of towels, a bar of soap, and a small bucket with steaming water in it. He had to bathe standing up, but there was something refreshing about it – besides, he was just glad to be clean.

 

*

 

They had plenty of hours left of daylight, but Frederick and Robin were eager to get home. Venturing out had been a much-needed holiday, but they were intimately aware of their duties back home – Robin's heart thumped whenever he thought of Chrom and whatever he had decided about the fate of the kingdom. He wouldn’t receive answers to all of the questions in his head until he saw the man himself.

Creating the plans had been difficult, although it was intellectually stimulating. Robin’s problem with this – it would be fine to do this as an exercise on his knowledge of kingdom politics, but knowing that his words had weight and consequences had induced a tension twisting from the base of his neck all the way down to the small of his back. Actually following through on something - to physically make changes, seemed a gargantuan task. Robin privately hoped that Chrom had decided to grin and bear things the way they were.

 

When he came down to eat, the kitchen was empty. There was a single plate on the table; seating a heap of yellow rice and some thin white slab of what could have been white meat or fish - covered in some sort of red seasoning. His stomach growled fiercely. He could only hope the food had been left for him, because he was definitely going to eat it.

 

"Ah-Robin dear. I see you found the food I left for you."

 

Robin nearly jumped out of his seat. Frederick's mother stood at the doorway between the kitchen and the back garden; the sunlight casing her stoic expression in a golden halo. What was with this family and giving Robin the heebie-jeebies? He needed to leave before Selene’s ghost haunted him off this mortal coil.  
"Thank you very much." He still didn't know how to address her - he had trickily been weaving between words, trying not to refer to her directly. 'Lilith' seemed too informal, but 'ma'am' too formal. 'Mother' was incredibly presumptuous. He nearly snorted aloud at the thought of saying "Thanks for having me, Freddy's mum!" like he was half his age.

 

Her stare was familial and hardened at the same time – in a lot of ways, Lilith was far tougher than Frederick. Robin privately thought that he would be much more comfortable facing her gigantic son in a fight – if Frederick had been a poker face at first, Lilith was a roulette wheel. "You're welcome. I hope you don't mind; I wanted to speak with you before you left."

 

Robin's stomach dropped, and he swallowed thickly. Had something else happened with the water? He cycled through a million half-formed explanations for his blunder but could only focus on the nervous feeling of needing to use the bathroom very badly and very suddenly.

"Sure, what's up?"

 

"I don't mean to put any pressure on you." Robin's head felt like it was about to implode. "Oftentimes...you have my son's life in your hands; don't you?" He was silent for a long time, but she waited for him to respond. That patience was what made her so deadly.

"I keep him as safe as I can." Ma'am did feel somewhat appropriate here, but he didn't say it.

 

"He's well and alive; I believe you on that count." She kept her distance; possibly sensing the anxiety rolling off him in waves. Robin felt absolutely out of his depth – there was no use trying to predict what Lilith wanted to hear – he could only desperately claw for the first words that came into his head when it came to her, leaving him completely vulnerable.  
"You care for him, don't you?"

 

"He's an important comrade."

 

"I just want you to remember you hold more than his life." The light from behind Lilith obscured the centre of her face in shadow as she stepped forward – he didn't have a clue what she meant, so he stayed silent, the grip on his spoon slack. "He likes you. Are you going to honour that?"

 

Robin felt flustered, but he had nothing in his deck other than honesty. He looked her in the face, squinting in the light. "I would do anything to keep his faith."

 

"Good answer, Robin."

 

Now how in Naga’s name was he supposed to read that? Lilith’s words were simple – perhaps humorous, on the surface. That tension in his back said that he would be a fool to trust that interpretation.

 

Lilith left without another word, and Robin was left to finish his meal in silence. He felt very guilty for some reason - possibly something to do with wanting to corrupt her son - so he washed his plate and cutlery very thoroughly, hoping that somehow it would make up for the thoughts he held.

 

*

 

Robin’s room was cleared of books and parchment when he came back; the mess of cushions and fabrics washed back into brightness and the feathers inside plumped thick.  
He usually hated when maids went through his room and reorganised stacks of paper; his belongings fanned out in an intricate web of thoughts which mapped the far corners of his mind – but it was a relief to see the room in its usual state, instead of the garbage tip reminiscent of his rushed failure a couple of days ago.

 

He took a moment to breathe.

 

This whirlwind of events and time – it felt like Robin had been stuck in a trance for some time after Gangrel’s passing. He had no purpose, and had simply put off thinking about it because he wasn’t ready to face that reality. Now he was moving again – he seemed to find and lose himself in the valleys between his responsibilities. Moments of feeling relied on gave him hope, but there were always layers of anxiety behind it – Robin wondered if he could trust himself to meddle so wholly in people’s lives while his intrusive thoughts brought chaos, wreck and ruin to the forefront of his priorities.

Robin decided to do something he’d never done before.  
Robin would make a list.

_1._

……

…………

………………

 

What was he supposed to be doing again?

  1. _Talk to Libra (RATS)_
  2. _Talk to Chrom – government_
  3. _~~Confess to Frederick~~_



That was far too personal. What if Frederick found this note? Robin screwed the thing up and tossed it aside.

  1. _Talk to Libra (RATS)_
  2. _Talk to Chrom – government_
  3. _Situation_



Yes. Perfect.

Talking to Libra…he’d written it down now…it was a responsibility…

Not perfect. He didn’t have the motivation to do it anymore.

_Ah, come on, Robin!_

Robin circled his room a few times, pacing harder and harder until he was stomping, his thumbnail pressed firmly against the back of his top teeth, trying not to bite, and failing.

Right. He was just going to walk in the direction of Libra’s room. He didn’t even have to walk in. Just go there. He could do that much.

 

*

 

The little, dark door was more daunting than it had ever been. Libra’s herbs and oils made a trail of scent down the hallway that was usually fresh, deep and comforting, but this time every step he took made a larger impression on his body like a funeral march getting louder and louder and-

-the door opened before he could knock on it.

 

"Sumia?"

 

"Oh...Hey, Robin." She spoke awkwardly, but her eyes were wild like game hit by an arrow. She rubbed her arm furiously with her hand. "How was your trip?"

 

"It was great; thank you. Are you okay? Why are you up here? Is Libra in?" The questions spewed out of him, but he cared mostly about the last one. It's not that he didn't care for Sumia - he was feeling single-minded at the moment, and all he could think of was what he needed to ask.

 

"Everything’s okay!" The last syllable came out in a straining high pitch, which Robin was definitely going to have to question her about later. For now, he simply raised an eyebrow. “I was just leaving, so…” With that, she moved her hand from her own arm to Robin’s, to gently pat him out of the way.

 

"Ah, Robin." Libra's huge but rather unimposing stature loomed over Sumia's tiny frame. He seemed to notice the urgency in Robin's expression. "Sumia, I've prepared everything I need to; I'll come and visit you this evening." That was about as cryptic as Libra usually was – he took patient confidentiality seriously regardless of common sniffles or life-threatening diseases.

Robin pressed his back against the open door to allow Sumia to pass as he entered.

Libra's room was crowded with plants: greenery hung from baskets on the ceilings; huge, exotic-looking leafy plants sat in floor-pots the size of drums. Some scented flowers and herbs rested on the many windowsills in the room (Libra insisted on having lots of natural light); Robin remembered smelling and even sampling some of them when he was learning Libra's craft.

The room was a little less tidy than usual; half-filled and empty bottles scattered about the place, and some sort of alchemy set out on his desk. He had been making medicines in a hurry, Robin inferred.  
"Is there a flu going around or something?"

Libra was holding a flask in one hand and a bunch of herbs wrapped partially in linen in the other. Robin's brain shot back to an appointment some months ago that he had the privilege of sitting in on. The liquid in the flask was incredibly distinctive...some sort of antihistamine that Robin couldn't remember the name of. Beneath the herb was a hunk of ginger. The woman the medicine had been for… had a strong case of morning sickness.

Robin gave Sumia a probing gaze, and she flinched back like she had been swatted at.  
"...Congratulations?"

 

Sumia put her head in her hands and moaned with grief. "I knew I shouldn't have let you in here."

 

"Sumia, I must offer my apologies..." Libra replied, flustered.

 

"It's okay. He knows now, so there's no point in hiding it." She shrugged easily, but the tension with which she bit her lip suggested a deeper worry.

 

"You guys are keeping it a secret, right? It’s okay; I’ll keep it – besides, Chrom will probably tell me the news as soon as he sees me."

 

"Ah." Libra said, gesturing to Robin with the hand that held the flask. "About that..."

 

"Chrom doesn't know yet." Sumia finished. "Please don't tell him," She said the last part with great angst that Robin felt incredibly guilty for walking in at such an awkward time.

 

"Oh, I see." He struggled to find the right words to say. "Don't worry, he's going to be a great father. Are you gonna plan a banquet for the announcement? I'm sure I can keep my mouth shut until then."

 

Sumia's face suggested that was not the correct response. "Robin..." She started painedly, massaging the back of her neck. "I don't know…that I’m going to tell him any time soon."

 

Robin gave her a blank stare. "What do you mean?"

 

"There’s too much going on at the moment…" Sumia spoke in a hushed tone, glancing out at the empty corridor and then turning her body back so that Libra’s door swung shut behind her. "You know...how his dad was, right?"

Robin nodded, although it might as well have been a rhetorical question. Chrom's close friends all knew about his rocky relationship with his father – a man who never had time for anyone unless it benefitted him. Chrom was determined to be the antithesis of his father in every action he took; he designed himself in Emmeryn’s image and cultivated loving-kindness in the shadow of his uncertainty.

"He's already under tremendous pressure. Becoming a father...I think he'd need the time and headspace to prepare for it, and now...just isn't that time."

 

Robin felt intensely sorry for Sumia's struggle, and even worse that he agreed with her. Chrom wasn't even handling events as they were.

Robin pressed his hand weightily on Sumia’s shoulder. She looked up at him, and he found strength in her discipline. "I guess you've given me a deadline. By the time you're three months along, this whole kingdom will have changed."

 

She sighed, those strong eyes glazing over with a new layer of sadness. "I'm over a month in already, Robin."

 

"Then I'll just have to work quickly."

 

Her eyebrows set low, she looked up at Robin through her lashes and spoke with determination. "Chrom needs you, Robin. I need you. Are you sure that we can do this?”

 

Robin felt the weight of her secret on his shoulders. The sand timer was back in his mind again; moving much slower than the night he made his plans, but with much more weight. "I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think it was possible. Put your trust in me."

Sumia held his gaze for a moment. She held out her hand, and he took it – she clasped it between her palms, and he felt Shepherd-shaped callouses all over, reminding him of her service. She was a warrior – that made her adaptable, and her experience made her wise. Robin took her trust in him and turned it into self-confidence.

She left shortly after. Libra had been sat at his desk, politely pretending not to listen as he swirled ingredients into his contained liquid. "So, what did you need?" Libra asked, not looking away from his work.

 

"It's...kind of serious." Robin began nervously, seating himself where Sumia once was. He didn't know where to begin.

 

Libra immediately set down the medicine, turning in his chair to face Robin. "Did something happen during your time away? Did Sir Frederick hurt you?"

 

Robin's eyes went wide, his hands immediately raising in protest. "No, no, Gods, no! He was fine, I..."

 

"I...apologise for jumping to conclusions. I know things have changed between you two lately, I just can't let your previous… situation escape my mind." Libra was a good friend of Robin's; one of his closest, he might say. Libra was friendly with many people but familiar with few - as luck would have it, he took a shine to Robin, and the more time they spent together and learned from each other, the more Libra let his guard down. He was, interestingly, quite a protective friend - trustworthy and honest to a fault. An unexpected result of this was his fiery dislike of Frederick.

 

"Actually, Libra," Robin sighed, cupping his jaw with his hands, "the problem was me."

 

"I'm sure it can't have been that bad." Libra replied cynically. It was clear he had been waiting for Robin to say something rude about Frederick, which would be a little amusing, if not for his sour mood.

 

"I think I raised the dead, Libra."

 

Libra did a double take, his silky blonde hair shivering at the movement of his head. "I beg your pardon?"

 

"You know, it's just - you remember you taught me how to purify water?" Libra nodded. "Well, Frederick's mother had this _huge_ jug of water and I said I'd purify it and I think I messed it up - you know I just think I'm not meant for this healing stuff, I just get too nervous and I don't know what to think of-"

 

"Robin." Libra interrupted.

 

"Right. Sorry." He took a deep breath. "The water that I purified." He looked Libra dead in the eye. "Don't laugh, okay?" Libra's face didn't change. "It turned some rats into Risen."

 

Libra's mouth was still the same, serious line, but his eyes were calculating. "Robin, this is very important. Did you see them change from dead to alive?"

 

Robin thought back. "No, I didn't."

 

Libra’s fingers began kneading into his knuckles as if he was sore there. "How can you be sure they were Risen?"

 

"I...just _felt_ it, I guess. Their eyes were that glowing red colour, and they didn't run away when I entered the room; they just _sat_ there."

 

Libra placed his hands in his lap. "Robin...I have to tell you, I have never seen Risen in rat form before - nor anything close to that."

 

Robin's face fell. "You don't believe me, do you?"

 

"I believe that...you believe that those rats were Risen." He was choosing his words carefully, thinking hard as he spoke with caution. "Robin, what you saw - you were the only one to see it, correct?"

 

"Yes," Robin replied hopelessly. He had already given up on this conversation, and he wanted to leave.

 

Libra laced his fingers together diplomatically. "A lot of things could explain what you saw. Perhaps they were close to death and your water revived them. Perhaps they were always alive. Perhaps they were albino rats, and the light hit their eyes strangely."

 

Robin shook his head. "Maybe. I don't know."

 

Libra stood, closing the distance between them and sitting next to Robin. He placed his hand on Robin's shoulder blade and rubbed it comfortingly. "Robin, you know I'm not trying to get rid of you, but you should sleep on it. You may even sleep here if you like. Your head is filled with all sorts of new information at the moment, and you are nervous about your new abilities. That's _normal_."

 

"Thank you, Libra." He stood. "I think I'm gonna sleep in my own bed. It will do me well to be around familiar surroundings."

 

"I agree."

 

"I'll talk to you later, okay?"

 

Robin wanted to believe Libra - he felt a bit better, but something in him told him that what he saw was beyond an illusion. He was incredibly unsettled; Libra had been of no help, and now he was on his own in finding answers.  
Instead of taking the doctor’s orders, he moved in the opposite direction of his room; to the area of his last hope.

 

*

 

The library held the same comforting smell as it always did. The towering shelves made disordered rows like a maze in the confines of which Robin could hide and recharge after particularly stressful days. Its effect was not as immediate, nor as energising, as he had hoped, though.

Robin had come here to see if he could find any books that could explain his experience.  
The section on Risen had grown steadily in the past couple of years - mostly through Robin's requests, so he wasn't that sure he would find any answers, but it was the best option he had: if Libra didn't know, then what he had conjured had little to do with advanced clerical magic.

 

Because the shelves intersected with each other in such an awkward way – a design flaw which probably didn't anticipate the sheer volume of books that would eventually be held in Ylisstol Castle – it was impossible to tell if anyone was coming while you were reading. This was a fact which had led to Robin becoming an easy prank target on numerous occasions.  
Today, Robin was shocked out of his skin before he even arrived at his destination; with a loud thump coming from his east.

 

The library was seldom in use by anyone but Robin. However, there were thousands of people he would probably guess were utilising its facilities before he guessed that _Chrom_ would be sat at a table, with his nose in a book. The latter was literal; because as Robin approached, he understood the source of the thumping - Chrom smacking his head into the book on the table in front of him, defeatedly, a second time.

 

"That can't be good for the tome."

 

Chrom looked up miserably, and his face lit up when he recognised who was approaching him. "Robin! Thank the gods that you're home." He ran up and embraced Robin's shoulders. "I've been attempting to do some research, but, well..."

 

"I can see how well that's going." Robin said dryly, patting Chrom on the back before going to have a nose at whatever he had been attempting to read.

 

"Reading's never been my forte, I admit; but that font on parchment is a curse for dyslexic eyes."

 

Robin recognised traces of jargon, peeling the pages back to look at the title. "Political history? I'm so glad you've been doing some research!"

 

"'Doing some research' is probably a heavy-handed way of putting it."

 

Robin sat down in the chair that Chrom had been in, sitting back, and resting the tips of his toes against the table so he could swing lightly on the chair's back legs. "Still, well done! I was having trouble with them too. Did you manage to find anything out?"

 

Chrom half-rested on the edge of the table, and looked at the ceiling. "Well, at first I tried looking at the books you'd left in your room. I found some useful precedent on calling a crisis council."

 

"What does that mean?"

 

"Well...Sumia and I looked at your notes, and we didn't understand them, so we went to Lissa, who did. We're all in favour of your base idea – Lissa wants nothing to do with being Exalt, Sumia wants me to be less stressed, and I don't want things to carry on the way they are. There will, however, be a great deal of resistance to any idea of change to the monarchy. A crisis council would be our best bet at pushing the proceedings in our favour - we can appoint people who are more likely to agree with us, and there's a power imbalance in favour of the Exalt."

 

Robin thought for a moment. "That doesn't sound very fair. Don't you think it'll make them more likely to rebel if we try it this way?"

 

Chrom sighed, and turned his attention back to Robin. "The thing is, the chances of us changing the Exaltship are slim enough. To get that done in a short period of time would be nigh on impossible – the gentry will do anything within their power to put a spanner in the works. The best chance of getting this done now is to do it before people start getting ideas."

 

Robin was reminded of his promise to Sumia. "Two months," Robin said to Chrom, "two months and everything is going to be different."

 

Chrom's eyebrows raised. "You really think we can get this done in two months?"

 

"We have to." Robin rolled his shoulders. "So, how do we call one of these councils?"

 

*

 

The next morning, Robin had gathered a stack of reading material for the coming meeting. Chrom, some close friends and officials, and Robin, would begin drafting the official proposal that night, and Frederick had been sent for to recall certain members of the advisory council whom he had dismissed in name of the Exalt, and formulate the paperwork for the calling of the crisis council.

 

The pile of books that he gathered from the library were much more carefully chosen than that which he took out previously. Instead of wasting his time reading into the history of government, Robin asked himself exactly what he'd need to know to formulate a bulletproof plan, and brought out books to answer those questions.

They landed on his floor with a mighty thump, in a similar way to Robin's backside, and he searched his coat for a pencil. His fingers grazed cold metal, and he froze for a moment, before slipping the quill that Frederick had bought him out from his pocket.

...Well, there was no point in just putting it up for decoration, was there? Frederick would be irritated if Robin didn't use it. He supposed, then, he'd better get some ink.

 

*

 

The stockroom was not far from Robin's room; just past the dining hall at the end of the corridor. Usually Robin wrote everything in pencil because he was too lazy and messy to work in ink, but this wasn't war tactics - his notes would be preserved for years to come as precedent for future policy. Perhaps he should use some fancy parchment, too.

 

"Ah, Robin!" A voice called out as he was about to leave the dorms. Cordelia was waving wildly from her doorframe, and as he recognised her, she waved him over and pulled him into an embrace. "It's been so long since we last spoke! Is everything all right with Chrom and you? I heard you had a spat. And how was your trip with Frederick? You have to tell me everything!"

 

She moved to step outside, but Robin didn't budge. "Actually, do you mind if we pop inside? There's some things I'd rather not discuss out in the open."

Cordelia flushed, and looked hesitant. "Is something wrong?"

 

"Who's at the door?" A familiar voice came from inside.

 

Robin's mouth dropped open, and it quickly formed into a grin, and he slipped under Cordelia's arm cheekily to greet her secret. "Hello, Sully!"

 

Sully was laying on her side in Cordelia's bed, still in her nightwear. Cordelia made some whistling noises from the back of her throat, but seemed to have forgotten how to formulate words.

"Good to see ya, little man!" Sully leapt from her relaxed position to clap Robin welcomingly on the back, as if she had not woken up moments ago. "Glad to see you home in one piece!"

 

"Please put some clothes on," Cordelia found her voice, and chucked a bundle of linen, which Sully caught instinctively.

 

"Are you worried I'm gonna steal your girl? I hate to inform you, Cordelia, but Sully and I bat for _very_ different teams." Sully snorted at Robin's words and pulled a jumper over her bedhead.

 

"That's beside the point."

 

Sully spoke up. "So, how was the honeymoon? I didn't think Frederick had a romantic bone in his body. Well, except for-"

 

"Wait-honeymoon? Cordelia, you told Sully?"

 

Cordelia turned a deeper shade of red and her gaze dropped to the floor. "I'm sorry, Robin...it just slipped out."

 

"I should have expected this. You can't even keep your own secrets." Robin pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. "Sully, there's nothing going on between Frederick and I."

 

"Huh?" Sully looked confused. "He rejected you? Want me to beat some sense into him?"

 

"No, no, Gods, no." This was getting worse by the minute. "I never even - I haven't asked him."

 

"What? But, I thought, on the trip-" Cordelia started.

 

"I couldn't get the words out. I didn't wanna ruin his time with his mother, and he was so nice to me, guys. I didn't wanna mess anything up."

 

Sully snorted again; this time indignantly. "Mess what up? You don't have anything."

 

Robin put his hand to his chest dramatically. "Sully, _ouch_."

 

"Seriously! If he doesn't like you, then you two are sending different signals to each other and wanting different things," Sully put her index fingers together and furrowed her eyebrows, as if anything she was saying made any logical sense. "and if he does like you, then you're both wasting time circling each other."

 

"Uh. Thank you, Sully." Robin had no idea what she had just said.

 

"Just look at Cordelia! She put on her big girl pants and said that she liked me – I respect someone who can say what they mean, as embarrassed as it made me at the time, and here we are now."

 

"There's just a lot going on right now. Maybe after everything has blown over."

 

"You'll be waiting forever if you wait for things to cool down around here!" Sully argued back. She was being surprisingly stubborn about this; Robin had never pegged her for the romantic type. "I've been a Shepherd longer than you; so let me give you this advice. We don't get second chances. You waste all your days waiting for the right time, and then, boom! Suddenly you're out there on the battlefield, and you realise that you could die today, and you've wasted all possible opportunities to do the thing you wanna do so bad."

 

It was surprisingly inspiring, in a depressing way. She was right. They were at peace now, but Robin felt a storm brewing in his stomach - anything could happen to him, or to Frederick, and suddenly every word he could say would go forever unadmitted.

"I should tell him, huh."

 

"That's the spirit!" She punched him in the arm. "He's boring as all sin anyways. Who else is gonna love him if you don't?"

 

"Sully!" Cordelia reprimanded.

 

"It's the truth!"

 

*

 

Red evening fell over the castle. Robin's jittering hands held fast to his notes as he made his way to the conference hall, feeling gassy with nerves as he walked. Was it too late to go to the bathroom?

 

"Robin," Frederick greeted, standing with disciplined posture at the entrance to the hall - he relaxed it a little to place his hand gently on Robin's shoulder. Suddenly Robin's nerves were shooting up everywhere like a fireworks display. "I'm glad to see you before everyone else is present. Perhaps we could discuss the more essential points of your updated plans right now?"

 

"Sure. Okay. Yes."

 

"You look stiff as a board. Is everything all right - besides the obvious?"

 

Robin made eye contact with Frederick for a moment, and then shifted away. Everything had seemed so easy when they were out of town, but being back at the castle, where Frederick became stiffer and more professional - how could he possibly reveal his feelings in this state?

"It's nothing. Let's talk politics." Robin said finally, pushing open the door to the conference room.

 

*

 

The rest of the chosen negotiators piled in shortly. Chrom came with Sumia and Lissa. The remaining advisors to the Exalt entered sheepishly, bringing with them one who was previously dismissed (perhaps now reinstated?).

 

Chrom sat between Robin and his wife in the centre of the room, twiddling his thumbs anxiously. "That's odd," he noted aloud, "our representative of the gentry has yet to arrive." That alone was foreboding; it sent a ripple of anxiety through the table. "No matter - we should start without him."

Robin had not had time to brief Chrom on his notes in the same way as Frederick, but Chrom had read all of Robin's more detailed scribbles from those nights ago. He explained the essential points of what he hoped to achieve - a second title, and a reformation of what it meant to be Exalt.

 

"If I may be so bold, Lord Chrom," the reinstated advisor spoke up, "I hardly see why any of this is necessary. If you are struggling, there are already policies in place for you to fall back on us."

 

Robin was doing his best to let Chrom sit back and speak – it did not look very good if everyone else was doing all the talking for him. But, Chrom looked at him helplessly, and Robin cleared his throat. "There are specific reasons why, in this case, our plan would be preferable. You will keep your jobs as advisors - please know this is no slight to your ability to do your jobs." The advisor could hardly hide his sneer at that, and Robin couldn't quite blame him - the man had been fired. "Reform is going to focus at the points where the Exalt is the main actor. For example, in treaty negotiation, and in redistribution of the treasury."

 

"Is the idea to have an entirely new treasurer?" The female advisor asked; her expression unreadable.

 

"A new treasurer, or _treasurers_ ; yes. In terms of the budget, we hope to prevent fraudulent activity and mistakes by creating an official department with greater regulations in place."

 

"Surely decentralising the treasury would lead to _more_ mistakes; not less." The reinstated advisor spoke again.

 

"Not if the right people were employed, it wouldn't." Frederick argued at Robin's side. "We already have an idea of one who would work in such a department." Robin turned to him sharply. He certainly hadn't begun to think of any names yet. Was Frederick...bluffing?

 

"And who might that be?" The advisor called his bluff.

 

"Lady Miriel of the Shepherds. I'm sure you know her well. Her reputation in proficiency with organisation and distribution proceeds her."

 

"That's preposterous! This isn't some sort of playground; you cannot pick and choose your...your _friends_ to run a kingdom just because you like them!" The advisor spat.

 

"Miriel isn't just a friend!" Lissa argued back with just as much heat. "She has years of experience in army management, _including_ distribution of the finances." The advisor looked at her with confusion, and she stuck her tongue out.

 _Marvellous!_ Robin thought. Did Frederick and Lissa work this out by themselves?

 

The night continued in much the same way; Robin took notes and further drew out his plans from the advisors' objections and queries, and Lissa and Frederick came to Chrom and Robin's defence. Sumia was mostly silent - Robin could tell she was stressed; her thoughts were probably elsewhere, her hand placed inconspicuously on her stomach.

The advisors left first, weary and defeated.

 

"Well done, everyone!" Chrom said heartily, standing from his chair and stretching. "You all have been working so hard for me. I appreciate that more than I could put into words."

 

"So, what happens now?" Sumia asked, still sat, her gaze away from Chrom; at the huge panning windows which let the moonlight in. The short moment of peace had turned gloomy at that.

 

"Well, we start assigning roles and writing policy." Chrom replied, looking at Sumia strangely. "Each piece of policy will have to be assisted by an advisor with reference to the local lords."

 

Robin sighed. "This sounds like a lot of work."

 

Chrom patted Robin on the back. "It'll all be okay, old friend. Will you come back to my quarters? I have some things to discuss with you."

 

"Yeah – actually, could you go on ahead? I just want to do something first."

 

"Not a problem."

 

*

 

Robin pretended to sort through his notes until everyone piled out of the room. As expected, Frederick had stayed behind, one hand held tight to the opposite wrist behind his back as he said his formal goodbyes.

The last person left them alone in the room, and Frederick immediately moved towards Robin. "I must say, that went excellently, all things con-" He went to put his hand on Robin's shoulder, and at the slightest graze of Frederick's fingers, he flinched away like he had been struck. Frederick immediately corrected himself, and put his arms behind his back again. "-I apologise; I shouldn't have been so sudden...Is everything all right?"

Gods give Robin the grace to speak. He couldn't even look up at Frederick. It was all well and good to make plans to confess. When it came down to it, though, Robin simply wanted to hide away - talk about anything else.

"Please, Robin, talk to me."

"Frederick, I..." He continued to stare at the floor. "I need to tell you something, but I'm so afraid of what it might change. What should I do?"

"Is this - did you remember something?"

For some reason, that set a flame burning in Robin's chest. Again, with the trust issues – with his identity. There was no way that Frederick could possibly accept Robin as he was. His brain closed off, and suddenly he didn’t have any words.

“You know; it’s fine actually… I’m making a big deal out of nothing.”

Robin quickly picked up his sheets and turned to leave, but Frederick moved in front of him; again, his steps were far too silent, and Robin nearly ended up face-planting his expansive chest.

“Robin,” That deep voice said his name again, and it echoed to his very core. He was terrified, but he managed to look up and meet Frederick’s eyes. He was unreadable again. Robin clutched his notes close to his body. “Talk to me.” His tone took gently to commanding words – he was giving Robin the option, a space.  
Again, Frederick was positioning himself like a safety net at the edge of a cliff – Frederick didn’t realise that he was the valley.

“Freddy, I,” His voice came out like a whisper – all high-pitched and gasping to find the words. He stared pointedly at Frederick’s toes.  
“You have shown me such kindness and strength in ways that I never expected. It’s why I feel so guilty that I’ve messed everything up.”

“What have you messed up? Robin, haven’t we been okay?”

His eyes snapped up, and guilt instantly set in when he realised that he’d upset Frederick. “We’ve been excellent, Frederick! Incredible. For the first time I can remember I have felt so at home, and safe, and-and _sure_ of myself!”

“Then what is the problem here?”

“The problem…” Robin mumbled. He picked at the corner of the sheets with his fingers, and chewed his cheek. There was silence for a while.

“Please, Robin. This is going to keep me up at night.”

Robin slumped into a nearby chair, setting the pages on his lap. “People like me, Frederick… People without homes or families or-”

“You don’t know that for certain.”

“If you want to know what’s going on you’ll let me finish!” Robin snapped.

“Sorry.”

“People like me, when we receive kindness…it hits differently. It feels different. All of a sudden, Frederick,” he took in a deep breath, “you are so important to me. More important than anyone or anything. I have all of these – these feelings that I shouldn’t have.”

Frederick was deathly still. “Feelings.”

“Feelings!” Robin repeated, somewhat unwilling to expand.

“As in, familial…or?”

“No!” Robin moaned, hitting his head against the meeting table.

“Then…romantic?”

“Maybe…” He admitted into wood.

“I see.” Frederick replied.

“I mean-” Robin slammed the sheets on the table, and jumped up. “It’s not like I expect anything, and nothing has to change!” He realised he was being incredibly loud, and quietened as he said, “I just didn’t know how to go forward not telling you.”

“Well, it’s rather inconvenient timing.” Frederick commented, moving for the first time since he had stopped Robin’s exit; waving his arms in a helpless motion.

“I know.”

“I mean, for goodness’ sake, we have a government to build.”

“I know.”

Frederick began to wander about the room. “And we are Lord Chrom’s advisors; it is _crucial_ that we stay impartial.”

“I _know,_ Frederick! I know, I know, I know. Naga, I know this is a pain in the backside, but I didn’t expect you to be such an ass about it!”

Frederick whipped his head around. “An ass?! I am attempting to figure out our options!”

“ _Our_ options?! They’re my feelings! They’ll go! If you’re that bloody repulsed by me then I assure you we can go back to exactly how things used to be.” Robin was beginning to splinter – this wasn’t fair; none of it was fair. He felt guilty, and for what? It wasn’t his fault for developing feelings. It’s not like he was forcing Frederick to spend time with him, or even accommodate him at all.

“You!” Frederick pointed accusatorily. “You don’t understand a thing. You, you come into my bloody life and you’re so ridiculous!”

“Oh, I’m ridiculous! You’re flailing about like a village fool and _I’m_ ridiculous!”

“You’re ridiculous! It’s been weeks and-you’re standing there and you’re saying all the right things and you’re _perfect_ , Robin.” Robin’s mind went blank as Frederick moved closer.  
“You’re so cool about this. How can you be so cool about this? My sacred duty is to be a knight – I am _bound_ , and here, all that has been on my mind is how to say the words you said so easily. And I’m even messing that up.”

“You like me.”

Frederick’s cheeks stained pink as he looked down from in front of Robin. The windows behind Robin’s back cast moonlight in all kinds of directions across Frederick’s face and chest. They were inching closer, bodies magnetic. When they were together, Robin felt magical – not in the sense of a spell tome, but physically lighter; on another plane, as if he and Frederick were the only two people in this world. He understood Frederick as a shape of light; a sound wave, a physical weight.

“Yes.”

Robin smoothed his hands up Frederick’s chest to reach his shoulders. His hands were shaky. “Then why are we arguing?”

Frederick brought his hand to one of Robin’s, and gently lifted it to his mouth. “I don’t know,” he kissed into Robin’s skin. Robin exploded into pieces.

There were no words for just a moment, but it felt like an age that they were trapped between two conclusions – they were friends, or they were lovers; perhaps they were nothing at all.

Robin was too nervous to move. He wanted to get closer, to melt his feelings into Frederick’s body until Frederick understood everything about him that there was to understand. That stood in stark contrast to his anxiety – he was too used to guarding his actions around Frederick; holding back, being friends. Bridging that gap physically was proving to be a harder habit to break than he had ever thought.

“What are we going to do, Robin?”

“About us? Whatever comes naturally.”

“I’m not sure I know what comes naturally anymore.”

Robin laughed breathily. “I’m not sure that I know either.” He moved his free hand to cup Frederick’s cheek. “Listen, I have to go and talk to Chrom. I’ll come to your room this evening – we can talk more about us then.”

“I suppose you have duties to attend to…” Frederick looked at Robin through his lashes, his lips still on the back of Robin’s hand, and his grip only tightened. “I’m going to be selfish and ask you not to be too long out of my presence.”

 _Thunk,_ went his heart. “I don’t know, Frederick, I’m a busy man.” Said his mouth.  
Frederick detached himself from Robin’s body with a dissatisfied pout. “Aw, don’t look that way; I was teasing! As if I could spend that long away from the man who _likes_ me.”

“The man in question definitely feels something stronger than plain _like_.”

“Stop! You’ll make me not want to leave.” Robin said, but he began to gather up his belongings again.

“Go and attend to your duties, troublemaker.”

“Yes, sir!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello readers!!!  
> golly it has been so very long. i am sorry. three houses came out and then i forgot who i was.  
> (side note: did you guys play 3h?? i really loved it. special mention to flayn, seteth and linhardt god tier character design. who were your favourites?)  
> the worst part was most of this chapter has been written for ages - nearly 6k of what is abt 8.3k words.  
> anyways
> 
> we're back in ylisstol. i'm a bit sad i had to end the time at freddy's mum's house - it was kind of like living in a romantic dream to have fredrobin feeding animals and flirting while the sun sets (although it was SO difficult to write).  
> when i was writing the libra scene all i could think of was warrior cats and the like healing herbs omg...  
> characterisation of libra is inspired by my best friend who reminds me of libra in a lot of ways. except he would always trust frederick.
> 
> special thank you to simon! the confession scene was directly inspired by some poetry they shared with me maybe the night before i wrote it. the way they write is honestly beautiful you guys i wish i could link you to some of their work.
> 
> if you are keen of sight you will notice this is the LAST chapter of this fic! this does NOT however mean the story has ended. there are a hundred kisses to be had, a thousand friends to be made and a billion ends to tie up.  
> the next part of the story will be in a second 'book' - because i've planned this story in arc format.  
> i will be in scotland for a few days and then i'll be working on the next chapter whenever i feel like procrastinating my uni assignments
> 
> book two will contain:  
> lucina (x2)  
> libra (x1)  
> nsfw scenes (x?)  
> betrayals (x?)  
> and time-period inaccurate political drama!
> 
> stay tuned, fredrobins!


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